THE  GREAT   MASTERS 


OF 


RUSSIAN    LITERATURE 

IN 

THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

BY 

ERNEST  {DUPUY 

TRANSLATED  BY 
NATHA^fc^Hv^KELiL    DOLE 

THE   PROSE  WRITERS 


Nikolai  Vasilyevitch  Gogol,  Ivan  Sergeyevitch  Turgenief, 
Count  Lyof  Nikolayevitch  Tolstoi 


WITH  APPENDIX 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

13  AsTOK    Place 


m 


Copyright,  1886,  f  J; 

By  THOMAS   Y.  CROWELL  &   CO.  !i 


ncnAOna 


ELECTROrS'PED  AKD  PRINTED 

BY   RAND,   AVERY,   AND    COMPANY, 

BOSTON. 


PG-30/3 


PREFACE 


With  a  view  of  adding  new  oil  to  the  recently 
kindled  fire  of  interest  in  Russian  literature,  the  pres- 
ent translation  of  M.  Dupuy's  little  book  is  offered  to 
the  public.  M.  Dupuy  is  entirely  modest  in  his 
claims.  In  his  brief  preface  he  acknowledges  his 
predecessors  in  the  study  of  Russian  literature,  and 
merely  thinks  that  it  is  not  possible  to  open  too  many 
windows  toward  the  horizon  of  foreign  lands  :  "  how- 
ever small  mine  may  be,  I  take  keen  delight  in  throw- 
ing it  wide  open."  The  translator  has  no  more  desire 
to  "boast  or  excuse"  than  the  author.  He  feels, 
indeed,  that  to  transfer  into  English  the  style  which 
marks  M.  Dupuy's  essays  is  an  impossibility.  They 
are  delicate,  fragile  works  of  art.  The  thought  is 
not  seldom  commonplace.  For  instance,  M.  Dupuy 
begins   a   paragraph   on   p.   176  with   this   sentence, 

1 

M652920 


11  PREFACE. 

"  Chaque  homme  a,  pour  ainsi  parler,  une  physiogno- 
mic, et  cette  physiognomic,  commc  Ic  visage  memc,  est 
plus  ou  moins  caract^ris^e." 

But  these  trivialities,  dressed  in  graceful  idioms,  are 
simply  charming.  To  touch  them,  to  analyze  them,  is 
like  touching  a  soap-bubble.  Fortunately,  M.  Dupuy 
has  also  all  the  Gallic  acuteness  and  cleverness  of  illus- 
tration ;  and,  in  spite  of  occasional  glittering,  illusive 
triteness,  there  is  a  solid  basis  of  value,  which  remains 
even  when  the  scintillations  are  dulled,  when  the  iri- 
descence is  obscured  by  "  the  veil  of  translation." 
His  skill  in  giving  the  gist  of  a  book  is  thoroughly 
characteristic;  and  that,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  shines 
through  the  English. 

The  translator  is  responsible  for  the  appendix  and 
most  of  the  notes.  There  is  little  that  is  original  in  it 
or  them ;  but  together  they  may  add  a  touch  of  accu- 
racy, and  an  hour  of  interest.  If  not  original,  they  are 
derived  from  sources  not  generally  accessible. 

NATHAN   HASKELL   DOLE. 
Philadelphia,  July  21,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

GOGOL 5 

TURGENIEF "7 

TOLSTOi •  •  •        .  215 

APPENDIX 339 

INDEX 44« 


It  may  be  said,  that  the  emancipation  of  lit- 
erature in  Russia  dates  back  scarcely  fifty  years. 
All  the  Russian  writers,  whether  of  poetry  or 
prose,  with  the  exception  possibly  of  one  or  two 
satirists,  were  little  more  than  imitators.  Some 
of  the  most  valued  authors  during  the  first  half 
of  this  century,  Zhukovsky  for  example,  owed 
all  their  fame  to  translations.  Pushkin  himself, 
who,  on  the  recommendation  of  Merimee,  has 
for  some  time  been  admired  in  France,  did  not 
venture  far  from  the  Byronic  manner.  He  died, 
to  be  sure,  just  at  the  moment  when  he  had 
found  *his  path.  He  suspected  the  profit  that 
could  be  made  from  national  sources ;  he  had 
a  presentiment  that  a  truly  Russian  literature 
was  about  to  burst  into  bloom ;  he  aided  in  its 
production.  His  greatest  originality  lies  in  his 
having  predicted,  preached,  perhaps  prepared 
or  inspired  Gogol. 


NIKOLAI    GOGOL. 


I. 

Nikolai  Gogol'  was  born  in  1810,  in  a  vil- 
lage of  the  government  of  Poltava.  His  father, 
a  small  proprietor  with  some  education,  obtained 
for  him  a  scholarship  in  the  college  of  Nidzhin. 
Fortunately  the  young  Gogol  was  able  to  hold 
his  own  in  rebellion  against  the  direction  of  his 
instructors,  and  neither  the  dead  nor  the  living 
languages  brought  him  any  gain.  He  thus 
failed  of  becoming  a  commonplace  man  of  let- 
ters, and  consequently  had  less  trouble  in  the 
end  with  discovering  his  original  genius. 

In  his  father's  house,  on  the  other  hand,  he 

*  Nikolai  Vasily^vitch  Gogol-Yanovsky,  born,  according  to  Polevoi, 
on  the  31st  of  March,  1809,  at  Sorotchintsui.    See  Appendix. 

5 


O  NIKOLAI   GOGOL. 

received  a  priceless  education,  such  as  Push- 
kin, in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  vainly  attempted 
to  obtain.  He  was  imbued  with  the  poetry 
of  the  people.  His  childhood  was  entertained 
by  the  marvellous  legends  of  the  Malo-Russians. 
Gogol's  grandfather  was  one  of  those  Zaparog 
Cossacks  whose  heroic  exploits  the  author  of 
"Taras  Bulba"  was  destined  to  celebrate.  He 
excelled  in  the  art  of  story-telling,  and  his 
narrations  had  a  tinge  of  mystery  about  them 
that  brought  the  cold  chills.  **  When  he  was 
speaking  I  would  not  move  from  my  place  all 
day  long,  but  would  listen,  .  .  .  and  the  things 
were  so  strange  that  I  always  shivered,  and  my 
hair  stood  on  end.  Sometimes  I  was  so  fright- 
ened by  them,  that  at  night  every  thing  seemed 
like  God  knows  what  monsters."  This  fund  of 
mainly  fantastic  and  diabolical  legends  after- 
wards furnished  the  grandson  of  the  Ukraine 
village  story-teller,  with  the  material  for  his 
first  original  work.' 

Gogol's  first  attempts  were  not  original :  he 
began  too  early.  Scarcely  out  of  the  gymna- 
sium, he  began  to  write  in  rhyme  ;  in  the  morn- 

*  Evenings  at  the  Farm  House  {Vetchera  na  Khutorye). 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  7 

ing  trying  all  the  styles  in  vogue,  at  evening 
making  parodies  upon  them.  He  established 
a  manuscript  journal  "The  Star"  {Zvyezd). 
The  student  intoxicated  by  reading  Pushkin 
still  remained  in  the  trammels  of  uninspired 
verse,  in  the  formulas  of  romanticism.  Some 
characteristics  already  began  to  reveal  the  pre- 
cocious observer,  the  brilliant  satirist.  Thus 
his  prose  articles,  clandestinely  introduced,  had 
a  tremendous  success  never  equalled  in  his 
ripest  years,  even  by  his  comedy  of  "  The 
Revizor^ 

After  his  studies  were  ended,  Gogol  was 
obliged  to  conquer  the  favor  of  a  public  less 
complacent  than  the  rhetoricians  and  philoso- 
phers of  Niezhin.  He  obtained  (1830)  an 
exceedingly  modest  office  in  the  Ministry  of 
Appanages  {Udyelui).  But  in  the  bureau, 
where,  like  Popritshchin  in  the  "  Recollections 
of  a  Lunatic"  his  service  was  limited  to  sharp- 
ening dozens  of  pens  for  the  director,  he  worked 
out  a  comedy  on  the  pattern  of  Scribe's,  and 
spun  a  cottony  idyl  in  the  German  style.  The 
comedy  was  hissed  by  the  public,  and  the  idyl 
was  so  unkindly  received  by  the  critics  that 


8  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

Gogol   had   this   attempt  withdrawn  from  the 
market. ' 

Gogol  almost  simultaneously  shook  off  the 
double  yoke  of  bureaucratic  slavery  and  literary 
imitation.  Instead  of  following,  like  so  many 
others,  in  the  track  of  French,  English,  or  Ger- 
man writers,  he  determined  to  be  himself.  He 
went  back  over  the  course  of  his  early  years  to 
find  in  this  way  in  all  their  freshness  the  im- 
pressions of  his  childhood ;  he  returned  to  his 
first,  his  real  masters,  and  began  once  more  to 
get  material  around  the  Malo-Russian  hearth. 
He  appealed  to  his  mother  for  recollections  ;  he 
besought  the  aid  of  his  friends ;  he  put  them 
like  so  many  bloodhounds  on  the  track  of  half- 
forgotten  legends,  half-vanished  traditions ;  he 
collected  documents  of  every  sort  and  kind :  and 
when  he  was  sufficiently  permeated  with  sav- 
agery to  think  and  speak,  if  need  were,  like  a 
Cossack  of  the  last  century,  he  created  a  work 
at  once  modern  and  archaic,  learned  and  enthu- 
siastic,  mystic    and    refined,  —  Russian,   in    a 

^  Hans  Kiichel  Garten — such  was  the  name  of  the  unfortunate 
idyl  —  was  afterwards  placed  by  the  author,  not  without  complai- 
sance, among  Mis  juvenilia.    See  Appendix. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  9 

word,  —  and  published  it  under  the  title  "Even- 
ings at  the  Farm"  {Vetchera  na  Khutory^ bliz 
Dikaitki). 

This  series  of  fantastic  tales,  published  in  the 
reviews  under  the  pseudonyme  of  Rudui  Panko 
(Sandy  the  little  nobleman),  produced  a  singular 
effect.  The  Russian  reader  was  surprised  and 
charmed  in  the  same  way  as  a  French  traveller, 
who,  after  having  visited  all  the  countries  and 
admired  all  the  floras  of  the  world,  should  dis- 
cover the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and  declare  that 
he  was  willing  to  exchange  the  splendors  of  the 
savannas  for  a  tuft  of  turf  and  a  bunch  of 
violets.  No  one  was  more  struck  with  the 
value  of  these  tales  than  Pushkin.  He  recom- 
mended their  author  to  Pletnef,  minister  of 
public  instruction  ;  and  Gogol  was  appointed 
professor.  The  servitude  was  still  more  oner- 
ous than  that  of  the  bureaucracy.  The  young 
writer  had  too  much  originality  to  bend  under 
it  very  long:  a  second  time  he  escaped,  and 
took  his  departure  for  the  Ukraina. 

The  Zaparog  Cossack's  grandson  used  to  say 
that  there  was  material  for  an  Iliad  in  the 
exploits  of  his  ancestors.     He  buried  himself  in 


10  NIKOLAI  GOGOL, 

the  study  of  the  annals  of  Little  Russia ;  he 
collected  the  traditions ;  more  than  all,  he  picked 
-^  up  the  national  songs  of  the  Ukra'ina,  —  those 
^y  kinds  of  heroic  cantilenas  composed  by  the 
I  players  of  the  bandura.  A  modern  diaskenastes^ 
he  constructed  a  body  out  of  all  these  poetic 
remains,  joined  them  together  by  means  of  a 
romantic  plot,  and  renewed  the  astonishment 
caused  by  the  appearance  of  "  Evenings  at  the 
Farm,"  by  publishing  "Taras  Bulba."  The 
minister  was  convinced  that  a  man  who  could 
thus  revivify  history  could  not  fail  to  be  skilled 
in  teaching  it :  he  therefore  offered  Gogol  the 
chair  of  mediaeval  history  in  the  University  of 
Petersburg.  The  romancer  gave  only  one  lec- 
ture, his  opening  lecture.  This  day  he  dazzled 
his  audience.  The  remainder  of  his  course  was 
for  both  students  and  professor  only  a  long- 
continued  bore,  which  ended  finally  in  his  losing 
the  place. 

Gogol  dreamed  of  a  different  success.  In 
1835  he  published  his  comedy,  "The  Revizor'' 
(The  Inspector  General).  It  was  applauded, 
and,  what  was  of  more  value,  it  was  desperately 
attacked.     The  author  gained  as  many  admirers 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  II 

and  enemies  as  "Tartuffe"  cost  Moli^re.  At 
Petersburg,  as  at  Paris,  the  masterpiece  was 
produced  on  the  stage,  and  kept  before  the 
public,  only  by  a  fortunate  caprice  on  the  part 
of   the  sovereign. 

Gogol's  health,  which  had  long  been  failing, 
caused  him  about  this  period  to  leave  Russia. 
He  lived  many  years  in  Italy.  There  he  com- 
pleted his  great  romance,  "  Dead  Souls  "  {MerU 
Vina  Dushi).  The  work  appeared  in  complete 
form  in  1841.'  The  author  had  reached  a  state 
of  nervous  irritation  and  hypochondria,  which 
was  more  and  more  manifested  in  his  corre- 
spondence, published  in  part  towards  1846.  The 
last  years  of  Gogol's  life  were  only  a  long  tor- 
ture, A  sort  of  mystic  madness  took  possession 
of  his  brain,  exhausted  or  over-excited  by  pro- 
duction :  death  put  an  end  to  his  nervous  dis- 
ease (1852). 

*  This  is  a  mistake.  He  completed  it,  to  be  sure,  but  in  his  religious 
mania  he  destroyed  the  most  of  the  second  part :  it  was  completed  by 
another  hand.    See  Appendix. 


12  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 


11. 


>^  Dreaminess  and  banter  are  the  two  natural 
tendencies,  the  two  favorite  pleasures,  of  the 
Russian  mind.  They  are  also  the  two  ele- 
ments of  Gogol's  talent.  At  the  beginning  of. 
his  career  as  a  writer,  and  during  the  sprightly 
years  of  his  youth,  it  is  dreaminess  which  pre- 
vails :  the  narrator  penetrates  with  enthusiasm 
into  the  untrodden  paths  of  the  Malo-Russian 
legends.  On  the  track  of  witches,  of  Rusal- 
kas,  he  finds  the  unpublished  poetry  of  the 
forests,  the  ponds,  the  wide  stretches,  and  the 
sky  of  the  steppes.  These  lovely  days  pass. 
■With  age,  this  restless  spirit  grows  gloomy  and 
melancholy.  The  observer's  eyes  turn  from 
the  pacifying  spectacle  of  nature,  and  attempt 
only  to  notice  the  vexing  absurdities  of  hu- 
manity. 

The  satirical  spirit  in  Gogol  is  first  expressed 
in  verse.     He  is  poetical  only  in  prose  ;  but  his 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  13 

prose  is  equal  to  the  most  beautiful  verse.  In 
truth,  poetry  is  not  rhyme,  or  metre,  or  even 
rhythm  :  it  is  the  power  of  touching,  of  record- 
ing its  impressions  in  vivid  and  genuine  im- 
ages. To  feel  emotion  suitable  for  poetic 
expression,  there  is  no  need  of  picturing  lofty 
heroes,  or  of  spreading  marvellous  landscapes 
before  the  eyes.  Properly  speaking,  a  Malo- 
Russian  peasant  is  like  a  hero  in  Corneille  ; 
and  the  imagination  of  an  author,  and  therefore 
of  his  reader,  can  just  as  well  be  stirred  by  the 
view  of  a  bit  of  the  flat  and  naked  steppe,  as 
by  the  sight  of  the  Bay  of  Naples  or  a  sunset 
on  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum. 

Gogol  understood  this,  and,  what  is  far  bet- 
ter, made  it  understood.  Instead  of  preparing 
his  imitation  of  Werther  and  his  copy  of  Childe 
Harold  in  the  fashion  of  so  many  others,  he 
had  the  courage  to  go  to  Nature  for  his  models.*^ 
And  in  this  Russian  nature,  the  wild  grace  and 
strange  flavor  of  which  he  was,  so  to  speak,  the 
first  to  feel,  that  which  attracts  him  more  than 
all  else  is  its  unostentatious  aspect.  His  field 
of  observation  is  the  village.  His  heroes  are 
unimportant    people,  half  -  barbarous    peasants, 


14  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

true  Cossack  lads,  hard  drinkers,  with  circum- 
scribed intellectual  training,  with  superstitious 
imaginations  ;  in  a  word,  very  simple  souls, 
whose  artless  passions  are  shown  without  any 
veil,  but  whose  very  ingenuousness  is  a  deli- 
ciously  restful  contrast  to  our  romantic  or  the- 
atrical characters,  so  artificial  in  their  labored 
mechanism,  so  insipid  and  perfunctory  in  the 
refinements  of  their  conventionality. 

Gogol  places  his  characters  in  their  natural 
surroundings.  It  is  the  hamlet  bordering  on 
the  steppe,  monotonous  and  infinite,  deserted 
and  mysterious.  All  this  country  appeals  to 
the  writer's  imagination,  as  well  as  to  that  of 
those  Malo-Russians,  whose  history,  past  and 
present,  he  will  describe  for  us  in  turn.  Each 
shrub  inshrines  a  memory ;  each  winding  val- 
ley veils  a  legend.  In  yonder  stretch  of  water, 
beset  with  rushes  and  starred  with  nenuphars, 
the  sceptic  traveller  in  his  indifference  sees 
only  a  sort  of  marsh.  The  peasant  who  is 
here  a  poet,  and  the  poet  who  remembers  that 
he  was  once  a  peasant,  know  well  who  the  Ru- 
salka  is  who  has  been  hiding  there  these  many 
years.     From  its  surface,  on  nights  when  the 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  15 

moon  lights  up  the  silvery  mist,  the  queen  of 
the  drowned  comes  forth  with  her  train  of  vir- 
gins, to  find  and  drag  into  the  depths  of  the 
water  her  stepmother,  the  witch  whose  evil 
deeds  drove  her  to  suicide. 

But  to  move  those  whom  she  has  brought 
forth,  this  land  of  the  Ukrai'na  has  no  need  of 
being  wrapped  in  mystery.  Gogol  has  only  to 
pronounce  the  name  of  the  Dniepr  to  arouse  a 
sort  of  passionate  woe,  whose  expression,  un- 
happily almost  untranslatable,  equals  in  beauty 
the  accents  of  the  noblest  poetry. 

'"Marvellous  is  the  Dniepr  in  peaceful  weath- 
er, when  he  rolls  his  wide  waters  in  a  free 
and  reposeful  course  by  forests  and  mountains. 
Not  the  slightest  jar,  not  the  slightest  tumult. 
Thou  beholdest,  and  thou  canst  not  tell  if  his 
majestic  breadth  is  moving  or  is  stationary. 
It  is  almost  like  a  sheet  of  molten  glass.  It 
might  be  compared  to  a  road  of  blue  ice,  with- 
out measure  in  its  breadth,  without  limit  to  its 
length,  describing  its  wondrous  curves  in  the 
emerald  distance.  How  delightful  for  the  burn- 
ing sun  to  turn  his  gaze  to  earth,  and  to  plunge 
his   rays    into   the    refreshing  coolness  of   the 

*  From  A  Terrible  Vengeance. 


1 6  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

glassy  waves,  and  for  the  trees  along  the  bank 
to  see  their  reflections  in  this  crystal  mirror ! 
Oh  the  green-crowned  trees !  They  stand  in 
groups  with  the  flowers  of  the  field  by  the 
water-side,  and  they  bend  over  and  gaze,  and 
cannot  weary  of  gazing.  They  cannot  suffi- 
ciently admire  their  bright  reflection,  and  they 
smile  back  to  it,  and  greet  it,  waving  their 
branches.  They  dare  not  look  towards  the 
middle  of  the  Dniepr :  none  but  the  sun  and 
the  azure  sky  gaze  at  it.  Some  daring  bird 
occasionally  wings  his  way  to  the  middle  of  the 
Dniepr.  Oh  the  giant  that  he  is !  There  is 
not  a  river  like  him  in  the  world  ! 

"  Marvellous  indeed  is  the  Dniepr  on  a  warm 
summer's  night,  when  all  things  are  asleep,  — 
both  man  and  beast  and  bird.  God  only  from 
on  high  looks  down  majestically  on  sky  and 
earth,  and  shakes  with  solemnity  his  chasuble, 
and  from  his  priestly  raiment  scatters  all  the 
stars.  The  stars  are  kindled,  they  shine  upon 
the  world ;  and  all  at  the  same  instant  also  flash 
forth  from  the  Dniepr.  He  holds  them  every 
one,  the  Dniepr,  in  his  sombre  bosom  ;  not  one 
shall  escape  from  him,  unless,  indeed,  it  perish 


NIKOLA'i  GOGOL.  1 7 

from  the  sky.  The  black  forest,  dotted  with 
sleeping  crows,  and  the  mountains  rent  from 
immemorial  time,  strive,  as  they  catch  the  light, 
to  veil  him  with  their  mighty  shadow.  In  vain  ! 
There  is  naught  on  earth  can  veil  the  Dniepr ! 
Forever  blue,  he  marches  onward  in  his  restful 
course  by  day  and  night.  He  can  be  seen  as 
far  as  human  sight  can  pierce.  As  he  goes  to 
rest  voluptuously,  and  presses  close  unto  the 
shore  by  reason  of  the  nocturnal  cold,  he  leaves 
behind  him  a  silver  trail,  flashing  like  the  blade 
of  a  Damascus  sword,  and  then  he  yields  to 
sleep  again.  Then  also  he  is  wonderful,  the 
Dniepr,  and  there  is  no  river  like  him  in  the 
world ! 

"  But  when  the  black  clouds  advance  like 
mountains  on  the  sky,  the  gloomy  forest  sways, 
the  oaks  clash,  and  the  lightning,  darting  zigzag 
across  the  cloud,  lights  up  suddenly  the  whole 
world,  terrible  then  the  Dniepr  is  !  The  col- 
umns of  water  thunder  down,  dashing  against 
the  mountain,  and  then  with  shouts  and  groans 
draw  far  away,  and  weep,  and  break  out  into 
tears  again  in  the  distance.  Thus  some  aged 
Cossack    mother    consumes    away   with   grief, 


i8 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 


when  she  gets  ready  her  son  to  take  his  depart- 
ure for  the  army.  With  many  airs,  a  genuine 
good-for-naught,  he  dashes  up  on  his  black 
steed,  his  hand  on  his  hip,  and  his  cap  set  jaun- 
tily awry  ;  and  she,  weeping  at  the  top  of  her 
voice,  runs  after  him,  seizes  him  by  the  stirrup, 
strives  to  grasp  the  reins,  and  twists  her  arms, 
and  breaks  into  a  passion  of  scalding  tears. 
Like  dark  stains  in  the  midst  of  the  struggling 
waves,  emerge  uncannily  the  stumps  of  charred 
trees  and  the  rocks  on  the  shelving  shore. 
And  the  boats  moored  along  the  shore  knock 
against  each  other  as  they  rise  and  fall.  What 
Cossack  would  dare  embark  in  his  canoe  when 
the  ancient  Dniepr  is  angry  }  Apparently  yon- 
der man  knows  not  that  his  waves  swallow  men 
like  flies." 

^  /The  same  powerful  and  charming  feeling  is 
/  found  in  all  the  descriptions  which  are  scattered 
'  throughout  Gogol's  work.  One  must  read  in 
"Taras  Bulba"  the  celebrated  description  of 
the  beauty  of  the  steppe  at  different  hours  of 
the  day.  What  a  picture  it  is  of  this  ocean 
of  gilded  verdure,  where,' amid  the  delicate  dry 
stalks  of  the  tall  grass,  shine  patches  of  corn- 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  1 9 

flower  with  their  shades  of  blue,  of  violet,  or  of 
red ;  the  broom  with  its  pyramid  of  yellow 
flowers;  the  clover  with  its  white  tufts;  and  in 
this  luxuriant  flora  a  corn-stalk,  brought  thither 
God  knows  how,  lifting  itself  with  the  haughty 
vigor  of  a  solitary  fruit !  The  warm  atmos- 
phere is  vocal  with  the  cries  of  unseen  birds. 
A  few  hawks  are  seen  hovering  ;  a  flock  of  wild 
geese  sweep  by,  and  the  prairie-gull  mounts 
and  swoops  down  again,  now  black  and  glisten- 
ing in  the  sunbeam.  Then  it  is  the  evening 
twilight,  with  its  vapors  descending  denser  and 
more  dense,  its  perfumes  rising  more  and  more 
penetrating;  the  jerboas  creep  out  from  their 
hiding-places  ;  the  crickets  madly  chirp  in  their 
holes  ;  and  **one  hears  resounding,  like  a  vibrat- 
ing bell  in  the  sleepy  air,  the  cry  of  the  solitary 
swan  winging  its  way  from  some  distant  lake."^ 

'  The  passage  referred  to  is  as  follows :  "  The  steppe  grew  more 
and  more  beautiful.  The  whole  South,  all  the  region  which  includes 
the  New  Russia  of  the  present  day  as  far  as  the  Black  Sea,  was  a  vir- 
gin desert  of  green.  Never  had  the  plough  passed  through  the  bound- 
less waves  of  vegetation.  Only  a  few  horses,  concealed  in  it  as  in  a 
forest,  trod  it  under  their  hoofs.  Nothing  in  nature  could  be  finer. 
All  the  surface  of  the  earth  was  like  a  green  golden  ocean  from  which 
emerged  millions  of  varied  flowers.  Amidst  the  delicate  tall  stalks  of 
the  grass  gleamed  azure,  purple,  violet  blue-bonnets  {volos/iki) ;  the  yel- 


20  NIKOLAI   GOGOL. 

What  gives  this  picturesque  and  vivid  prose 

a  singularly  penetrating  accent,  is  the  writer's 

emotion.     His  admiration  has  a  truly  passionate 

\  character,  and  this  passion  breaks  out  in  cries 

/    /of  joy,  even  in  expletives.      "The  deuce  take 

I  you,  steppes,  how  beautiful  you  are  ! "     There 

is  in  this  a  flavor  of  savagery  which  takes  hold 

of  us  like  a  novelty,  and  which  must  have  been 

as  agreeable  to  the  Russian  taste  as  the  secretly 

preferable  national   dish  after  too  long  use  of 

foreign  insipidities. 

And  even  for  many  Russians,  this  nature 
which  Gogol  studied  and  described,  or,  more 
accurately  speaking,  sang  with  a  sort  of  intoxi- 

low  broom  lifted  on  high  its  pyramidal  tower  ;  the  white  clover,  with 
its  umbrella-like  bonnets,  mottled  the  plain ;  a  wheat-stalk,  brought 
from  God  knows  where,  was  waxing  full  of  seed.  Under  their  slender 
roots  the  partridges  were  running  about,  thrusting  out  their  necks. 
The  air  was  full  of  a  thousand  different  bird-notes.  In  the  sky  hung 
motionless  a  cloud  of  hawks,  stretching  wide  their  wings  and  fixing 
their  eyes  silently  on  the  grass.  The  cry  of  the  wild  geese  moving  in 
clouds  was  heard  from  God  knows  what  distant  lake.  From  the  grass 
arose  with  measured  strokes  the  prairie-gull,  and  luxuriously  bathed 
herself  in  the  blue  waves  of  the  air.  Now  she  was  lost  in  immensity, 
and  was  visible  only  as  a  lone  black  speck.  Now  she  swept  back 
on  broad  wings,  and  gleamed  in  the  sun.  The  deuce  take  you, 
steppes,  how  beautiful  you  are  1 "  (  Tchort  vas  vozmi,  siy'ejii,  kak  vui 
khoroshi .') 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  21 

cation,  was  a  sort  of  new  world  offering  every 
attraction,  ^  Nothing  is  more  peculiar  than  the 
little  Russian  landscape  with  its  solitudes,  its 
lakes,  its  vast  rivers,  the  incomparable  purity  of 
its  sky,  icy  and  burning  in  turn.  Here  there 
is  material  to  tempt  the  palette  of  colorist  most 
enamoured  of  the  untouched  {epris  cTinedit). 
But  what  painter's  palette  has  colors  sufficiently 
I  powerful  to  express  as  Gogol  has  done  the  pro- 
found, ineffable  poetry  of  the  sounds  and  gleams 
of  the  night  ? 

'  **Do  you  know  the  UkraTne  night  ?  Oh  !  you 
do  not  know  the  Ukrafne  night.  Gaze  upon  it 
with  your  eyes.  From  the  midst  of  the  sky 
the  moon  looks  down.  The  immense  vault  of 
heaven  unrolls  wider  and  still  more  wide ;  more 
immense  it  has  become  ;.  it  glows  ;  it  breathes. 
The  whole  earth  is  in  a  silvery  effulgence,  and 
the  marvellous  air  is  both  suffocating  and  fresh. 
It  is  full  of  tender  caresses.  It  stirs  into  move- 
ment an  ocean  of  perfumes. 

"jNight  divine!  enchanting  night!  silent,  and 
as  though  full  of  life,  the  forests  rise  bristling 
with  darkness  ;  they  cast  an  enormous  shadow. 
Silent  and  motionless  are  the  ponds :  the  coolness 

»  From  The  May  Night. 


22  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

of  their  darkling  waters  is  gloomily  enshrined 
between  the  dark  green  walls  of  the  gardens. 

"The  cherry-trees  and  wild  plums  stretch 
their  roots  with  cautious  timidity  towards  the 
icy  water  of  the  springs ;  and  from  their  leaves 
only  now  and  then  are  heard  faint  whisperings, 
as  though  they  were  angry,  as  though  they  were 
indignant,  when  the  gay  adventurer,  the  night 
wind,  glides  stealthily  up  to  them  and  kisses 
them. 

"All  the  landscape  sleeps;  and  far  above, 
all  is  breathing,  all  is  marvellous,  all  is  solemn. 
The  soul  cannot  fathom  it :  it  is  sublime.  An 
infinite  number  of  silver  visions  arise  like  a 
harmony  in  the  depths.  Night  divine  !  enchant- 
ing night !  And  suddenly  all  is  filled  with  life, 
—  the  forests,  the  ponds,  the  steppes.  Majes- 
tically the  thunder  of  the  voice  of  the  Ukraine 
nightingale  rolls  along ;  and  it  seems  as  though 
the  moon  drank  her  song  from  the  bosom  of 
the  sky. 

"A  magic  slumber  holds  the  village  yonder 
in  repose.  Still  more  brilliant  in  the  moonlight 
the  group  of  little  houses  stands  out  in  relief ; 
still  more  blinding  are  their  low  walls  in  con- 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  2$ 

trast  with  the  shade.  The  songs  have  ceased ; 
all  is  now  still.  The  pious  folk  are  already 
asleep.  Here  and  there  a  narrow  window 
shows  a  gleam  of  light;  on  the  doorstep  of 
some  cottage,  a  belated  family  are  finishing 
their  evening  meal." 

Gogol  excels  not  only  in  picturing  the  grand 
aspects  of  the  Ukraine  landscape.  He  has 
sketches  filled  in  with  adorable  detail ;  and 
nothing  is  more  curious  than  the  contrast 
between  the  lyricism  with  which  he  celebrates 
the  seductions  of  the  Malo-Russian  sky,  and  the 
fine,  discreet,  restrained  tone  of  so  many  famil- 
iar impressions.  The  feeling  for  nature  finds" 
in  Gogol  all  manner  of  expression :  he  passes  in 
turn  through  every  gradation. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  vigorous  sketch  made  with 
a  few  strokes,  at  once  broad  and  accurate,  domi- 
nated by  a  strange  and  grandiose  theme:  — 

*  "In  places  the  black  sky  was  colored  by  the 
burning  of  dry  rushes  on  the  shore  of  some 
river  or  out-of-the-way  lake;  and  a  long  line 
of  swans  flying  to  the  north,  struck  suddenly  by 
the  silver  rose-light  of  the  flame,  were  like  red 
handkerchiefs  waving  across  the  night." 

*  From  Taras  Bulba. 


24  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  picture  full  of  detail, 
whose  motives  have  been  strangely  brought 
together  and  treated  delicately,  elaborately,  as 
with  a  magnifying-glass  :  — 

*"I  see  from  here  the  little  house,  surrounded 
by  a  gallery  supported  by  delicate,  slender 
columns  of  darkened  wood,  and  going  entirely 
around  the  building,  so  that  during  thunder- 
showers  or  hail -storms  the  window -shutters 
can  be  closed  without  exposure  to  the  rain ; 
behind  the  house,  mulberry-trees  in  bloom,  then 
long  rows  of  dwarf  fruit-trees  drowned  in  the 
bright  scarlet  of  the  cherries  and  in  an  ame- 
thystine sea  of  plums  with  leaden  down  ;  then 
a  large  old  beech-tree,  under  the  shade  of  which 
is  spread  a  carpet  for  repose  ;  before  the  house, 
a  spacious  court  with  short  and  verdant  grass, 
with  two  little  foot-paths  trodden  down  by  the 
steps  of  those  who  went  from  the  barn  to  the 
kitchen  and  from  the  kitchen  to  the  proprie- 
tor's house.  A  long- necked  goose  drinking 
water  from  a  puddle,  surrounded  by  her  soft 
and  silky  yellow  goslings ;  a  long  hedge  hung 
with  strings  of  dried  pears  and  apples,  and  rugs 
put  out  to  air;   a  wagon   loaded  with   melons 

*  From  Old-time  Proprietors. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  2$ 

near  the  barn ;  on  one  side  an  ox  unyoked 
and  chewing  his  cud,  lazily  lying  down.  All 
this  has  for  me  an  inexpressible  charm." 

Here  we  have  a  realism  anterior  to  our  own, 
and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  far  superior. 
Here  we  do  not  find,  as  we  do  elsewhere, 
features  collected  and  reproduced  with  the 
conscientiousness  —  or  rather  the  lack  of  con- 
scientiousness—  of  a  photographic  camera:  a 
choice  is  shown,  a  soul -felt  attention.  The 
observer's  notice  is  that  of  a  poet :  the  external 
world  is  no  longer  reflected  in  a  glass  lens,  but 
is  caught  by  a  quivering  retina;  the  image 
which  is  transferred  to  the  book  is  no  less 
alive,  and  what  the  writer  has  felt  in  this 
manner  the  reader  feels  in  turn. 

Just  so  far  as  purely  descriptive  description 
produces  an  impression  of  puerility,  of  unlike- 
ness,  and,  when  it  is  carried  to  extremes  in  the 
style  of  our  realists,  of  fatigue  and  disgust,  to 
the  same  degree  does  it  here  afford  interest, 
picturesqueness,  appropriateness.  Who  could 
fail  to  see,  or  who  would  refuse  to  admire,  the 
/>ose  of  "yonder  wooden  cottages,  leaning  to 
one  side,  and  buried  in  a  thicket  of  willows, 


26  NIKOLAI   GOGOL. 

elders,  and  pear-trees"?  They  have  something 
better  than  a  physiognomy :  they  have  a 
language. 

"  I  could  not  tell  why  the  doors  sang  in  this 
way.  Was  it  because  the  hinges  were  rusted.'* 
Or  had  the  joiner  who  made  them  concealed  in 
them  some  secret  mechanism  ?  I  do  not  know  ; 
but  the  strangest  thing  was,  that  each  door  had 
its  own  individual  voice.  That  of  the  sleep- 
ing-room had  the  most  delicate  soprano,  that  of 
the  dining-room  a  sonorous  bass.  As  to  that 
which  closed  the  ante -room,  it  gave  forth  a 
strange,  tremulous,  and  plaintive  sound,  so  that 
by  listening  attentively  these  words  could  be 
distinctly  heard:  '  Batiushki!  I  am  freezing.' 
I  know  that  many  people  do  not  like  the 
squeaking  of  doors  :  for  my  part,  I  like  it  very 
much.  And  when  I  happen  to  hear  in  St. 
Petersburg  a  door  crying,  I  suddenly  perceive 
the  scent  of  the  country,  together  with  the 
memory  of  a  small,  low  room,  lighted  by  a 
taper  set  in  an  ancient  candlestick.  Supper  is 
already  on  the  table,  near  the  open  window 
through  which  the  lovely  May  night  looks  into 
the  room.     A  nightingale  fills  the  garden,  the 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL,  2/ 

house,  and  the  slope  to  the  river  gleaming 
in  the  gloomy  distance,  with  the  glory  of  his 
voice  ;  the  trees  gently  rustle.  Bozhe  mot ! 
what  a  train  of  memories  arise  within  me ! " 

We  must  draw  attention  to  the  exclamations 
which  in  Gogol  serve  for  the  passionate  conclu- 
sion to  his  most  accurate  descriptions.  They 
give  us  the  key  to  his  j>oetic  realism.-  It  is 
feeling  which  stored  away  the  impression  in 
the  treasure-house  of  the  memory ;  it  is  feeling 
which  calls  it  up  again,  and  places  it  before  \ 
the  reader,  kindled  with  all  the  fires  of  the 
imagination. 


28  NIKOLA'/  GOGOL, 


III. 

This  power  of  resurrection  which  makes  the 
poet  a  god,  Gogol  applies  equally  to  facts  and 
to  ideas,  to  men  and  to  things,  to  legends  and  to 
history.  His  whole  work  shows  it,  but  noth- 
ing in  his  work  shows  it  more  clearly  than  his 
early  writings.  Here  imagination  plays  the 
leading  part.  In  the  works  of  his  riper  years, 
it  is  observation  which  comes  to  get  the  mas- 
tery, forcing  itself  everywhere.  The  part  played 
by  poetry,  by  fancy,  grows  less  and  less.  The 
author  of  *'The  Revizoi^,^'  of  "Dead  Souls,"  no 
longer  takes  pains,  except  rarely,  to  distinguish 
by  his  characteristic  touch  his  models  of  coarse- 
ness, platitude,  or  ugliness. 

The  writer  of  the  "Evenings  at  the  Farm" 
is  still  content  to  vivify  or  revivify  in  his  half- 
imaginary,  half-biographical  tales,  artless  lovers, 
full  of  passion  and  pathos,  heroes  of  epic  grand- 
eur, good  old  folks  of  the  vanished  past,  of  odd 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL,  29 

exteriors,  of  ridiculous  aspect,  but  charming  by 
their  glances,  stirring  by  their  smiles,  as  in  the 
pale,  faded  pastels  of  a  bygone  age.  Such  are 
the  figures  which  Gogol  afterwards  ceases  to  de- 
pict for  us  :  it  is  these  which  we  are  going  to 
endeavor  to  take  out  from  his  first  collection,  so 
as  to  examine  them  entirely  at  our  ease.         ^ 

This  collection  of  "Evenings  at  the  Farm" 
is  divided  into  two  parts,  bearing,  by  way  of 
sub-title,  the  town  names,  Didanka  and  Mir- 
gorod. 

Each  part  contains  two  groups  of  novels.  In 
the  "  Evenings  near  Didanka,"  ^  the  first  group 
contains  "  The  Fair  at  Sorotchintsui,"  "  St. 
John's  Eve,"  "The  May  Night,  or  the  Drowned 
Girl,"  and  "The  Missing  Paper."  The  second 
group  includes  "Christmas  Eve,"  "A  Terrible 
Vengeance,"  "  Ivan  Feodorovitch  Shponka  and 
his  Aunt,"  and  "An  Enchanted  Spot." 

The  "  Evenings  near  Mirgorod  "  contain  four 
novels  in  two  groups  :  in  the  one,  "  Old-time 
Proprietors"^  and  '^Taras  Bulba"  (in  its  first 
form  ;   shortly  afterwards  the  author  recast  it 

*  Vetchera  na  Khutor  ye  bliz  Dikanki.  ; 

*  Starosvyetskie  Pomyeshchiku 


30  NIKOLA'!  GOGOL. 

and  developed  it);  in  the  other,  ''Vii',"  which 
has  been  translated  into  French  under  the  title 
*'The  King  of  the  Gnomes,"  and  *'The  Story  of 
how  Ivan  Ivanovitch  and  Ivan  Nikiforovitch 
quarrelled."  ' 

The  novels  of  the  first  part  have  especially  a 
fantastic  character.  The  Devil,  who  holds  such 
ja  place  in  the  imagination  of  the  Malo-Russian 
peasants,  is  the  principal  hero  of  some  of  the 
stories,  "  The  Fair  at  Sorotchintsui "  for  exam- 
ple. Witches  also  play  a  preponderating  part  in 
his  mysterious  tales.  But  here  the  witch  is  not 
that  wrinkled,  toothless,  unclean  being,  hiding 
herself  like  an  abominable  beast  in  some  ill- 
omened  hovel.  She  is  generally  a  beautiful 
girl,  with  eyes  green  as  an  Undine's,  with  skin 
of  lily  and  rose,  with  long  hair  yellow  as  gold 
or  black  as  ebony,  with  delicate  level,  haughty 
eye-brows.  Sometimes,  as  in  "Vii,"  it  is  the 
proprietor's  daughter,  and  those  who  are  impu- 
dent enough  to  stare  at  her  are  lost :  witness 
the  groom  Mikita. 

This  groom  had  no  equal  in  the  world.     En- 

*  Povy'est  0  Tom  Kak  Possorilis  Ivan  Ivanovitch  s.  Ivanom  Niki- 
forovitchem. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  3^ 

chanted  by  the  maiden,  he  becomes  a  little 
woman,  a  rag,  the  deuce  knows  what.  Did  she 
look  at  him  ?  The  reins  fell  from  his  hand. 
He  forgot  the  names  of  his  dogs,  and  called  one 
instead  of  the  other.  One  day,  while  he  was 
grooming  a  horse  at  the  stable,  the  maiden 
came  and  asked  him  to  let  her  rest  her  little 
foot  upon  him.  He  accepted  with  joy,  foolish 
fellow !  but  she  compelled  him  to  gallop  like  a 
horse,  and  struck  him  redoubled  blows  with  her 
witch's  stick.  He  came  back  half  dead,  and 
from  that  day  he  vanished  from  mortal  sight. 
"  Once  when  they  went  to  the  stable,  they 
found  instead  of  him  only  a  handful  of  ashes  by 
an  empty  pail.  He  had  burned  up,  —  entirely 
burned  up  by  his  own  fire.  Yet  he  had  been  a 
groom  such  as  no  more  can  be  found  in  the 
world." 

Artless  but  not  silly  sorcery.  It  is  the  timid 
homage,  pathetic  from  its  very  timidity,  which 
is  offered  by  these  barbarous  souls  to  the  eter- 
nal power  of  beauty  and  love. 
A-Ji'hese  witches  of  Gogol,  so  bold  and  novel  in 
[their  conception,  put  me  in  mind  of  a  painting 
^of  the   Spanish    school,  attributed   to   Murillo. 


32  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

This  canvas,  which  I  saw  several  years  ago  in 
a  private  gallery,  is  a  Temptation  of  St.  An- 
thony, interpreted  in  ran  unlooked-for  way.  A 
young  man  of  thirty  years,  whose  features  are 
those  of  the  painter  himself,  with  sunburned 
face  and  passionate  eyes,  bends  towards  his 
mistress,  a  lovely  girl  with  piquant  charm,  sal y 
pimientay  who  is  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  while 
her  mouth  is  arched  at  the  corners  of  the  lips 
in  a  smile  of  irresistible  seduction. 

In  these  tales  of  Gogol,  the  marvellous 
abounds.  But  it  abounds  equally  in  the  life  of 
these  Malo-Russians  whom  the  author  has 
wished  to  depict  for  us.  The  supernatural 
affrights  and  charms  them.  If  the  legends  of 
the  Ukraina  are  lugubrious,  yet  they  never 
weary  of  hearing  them  told.  The  young  girl 
who  at  the  first  sound  of  the  serenade  lifts  the 
latch,  steals  out  from  the  door,  and  joins  the 
love-stricken  <^^;///?/r<2-player,  desires  no  other 
entertainment  on  the  border  of  the  pond  which 
in  the  uncanny  lights  of  the  night  reflects  in 
its  waters  the  willows  and  the  maples  :  '  "  Tell 
me  it,  my  handsome  Cossack,"  she  says,  laying 
her  cheek  to  his  face  and  kissing  him  :  "•  No } 

'  From  The  May  Night. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  33 

Then  it  is  plain  that  thou  dost  not  love  me, 
that  thou  hast  some  other  young  girl.  Speak  ! 
I  shall  not  be  afraid.  My  sleep  will  not  be 
broken  by  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  go  to  sleep  at  all  if  thou  dost  not  tell 
me  this  story.  I  shall  be  thinking  of  something 
else.  I  shall  believe  —  come,  Lyevko,  tell  it." 
They  are  right  who  say  that  the  Devil  haunts 
the  brain  of  young  girls  to  keep  their  curiosity 
awake. 

Lyevko,  however,  yields,  and  unfolds  the  old 
legend.  It  is  the  story  of  the  daughter  of  the 
sotnik  (captain  of  a  hundred  Cossacks).  The 
sotnik  had  a  daughter  white  as  snow.  He  was 
old,  and  one  day  he  brought  home  a  second 
wife,  young  and  handsome,  white  and  rose ; 
but  she  looked  at  her  stepdaughter  in  such 
a  strange  way  that  she  cried  out  under  her 
gaze.  The  young  wife  was  a  witch,  as  was 
seen  immediately.  The  very  night  of  the  wed- 
ding, a  black  cat  enters  the  young  girl's  room, 
and  tries  to  choke  her  with  his  iron  claws. 
She  snatches  a  sabre  down  from  the  wall,  she 
strikes  at  the  animal,  and  cuts  off  his  paw. 
He  disappears  with  a  yell.      When   the  step- 


34  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

mother  was  seen  again,  her  hand  was  covered 
with  bandages.  Five  days  later  the  father  drove 
his  daughter  from  the  house,  and  in  grief 
she  drowned  herself  in  the  pond.  Since  then 
the  drowned  girl  has  been  waiting  for  the 
sorceress,  to  beat  her  with  the  green  rushes 
of  the  pond ;  but  up  to  the  present  time  the 
stepmother  has  succeeded  in  escaping  from  all 
her  traps.  *  She  is  very  wily,'  says  the  poor 
Undine.  '  I  feel  that  she  is  here.  I  suffer 
from  her  presence.  Because  of  her,  I  cannot 
swim  freely  like  a  fish.  I  go  to  the  bottom 
like  a  key.     Find  her  for  me." 

Lyevko  the  singer  hears  the  drowned  girl 
thus  speaking  to  him  in  a  dream.  But  this 
dream  is  a  reality ;  for  when  he  wakes,  Lyevko, 
who  has  tracked  and  caught  the  stepmother  in 
the  circle  of  the  young  shadows,  finds  in  his 
hand  the  reward  of  the  Queen  of  the  Lake. 
It  is  a  letter  containing  an  order  for  the  mar- 
riage between  Lyevko  and  Hanna,  his  fiancee. 
The  order  is  given  by  the  district  commis- 
sioner, to  Hanna's  father,  who  has  hitherto 
shown  himself  recalcitrant.  "  I  shall  not  tell 
any  one  the  miracle  which  has  been  performed 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  35 

this  night,"  murmurs  the  happy  bridegroom. 
"  To  thee  alone  will  I  confide  it,  Hanna ;  thou 
alone  wilt  believe  me,  and  together  we  will  pray 
for  the  soul  of  the  poor  drowned  girl." 


3^  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 


IV. 


In  this  collection  of  "  Evenings  at  the  Farm  " 
figures  the  heroic  story  of  a  great  character,  the 
life  of  the  ataman  Taras  Bulba.  Gogol  after- 
wards turned  this  epopee  into  prose,  but  the 
after-touches  did  not  change  the  character  of 
the  early  composition.  The  hero  of  "Taras 
Bulba"  is  one  of  those  Zaporog  Cossacks  who 
played  such  an  important  part  in  the  history 
of  Poland,  and  later  in  the  history  of  Russia. 
After  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
the  Zaporozhtsui,  who  formed  a  military  repub- 
lic, or,  if  the  term  is  preferred,  an  association 
of  cavalry  bandits,  became  the  terror  of  the 
neighboring  peoples.  They  had  on  an  island 
in  the  Dniepr  a  permanent  camp,  the  Setch^ 
where,  even  in  times  of  peace,  young  Cossacks 
came  to  perfect  themselves  in  the  noble  game 
of  war.  Women  were  rigorously  excluded  from 
the  Setch.     The  men  were  quartered  in  divis- 


NIKOLAI'  GOGOL.  37 

ions,  or  kur^nui ;  each  ktir^ti  had  its  chief,  an 
ataman  {hetma^t) ;  the  entire  camp  was  com- 
manded by  a  supreme  chief,  the  atamdn-kotche- 
voi. 

The  romance  of  "Taras  Bulba"  opens  in 
the  most  original  fashion.^  The  two  sons  of  the 
Cossack  Taras  are  just  back  from  the  divinity 
school,  to  which  they  will  not  return.  The 
father,  a  vigorous  Zaporozhets,  who  has  grown 
gray  in  harness,  receives  them  with  sarcastic 
observations  about  their  long  robes.  It  is  a 
sort  of  test  like  that  which  Don  Diego  gives 
his  sons  in  the  "Romancero."  The  eldest  of 
Bulba's  sons,  Ostap  (Eustace),  behaves  like 
Rodriguez.  "Though  thou'  art  my  father,  I 
swear  to  thee,  if  thou  continuest  to  laugh  at 
me,  I  will  give  thee  a  drubbing." 

After  an  exchange  of  well-directed  blows  on 
either  side,  Taras  kisses  effusively  his  son 
whose  courage  and  strength  he  has  just  expe- 
rienced ;  he  rudely  rallies  Andrii*  (Andrew),  the 
younger,  on  his  gentleness  :  "  Thou  art  a  puppy 
so  far  as  I  can  judge.  Don't  listen  to  thy 
mother's  words  :   she  is  a  woman  ;   she  knows 

^  For  a  translation  of  this  portion,  see  Appendix. 


3^  NIKOLA'i  GOGOL. 

naught.  What  need  have  ye  of  being  coddled  ? 
A  good  prairie,  a  good  horse,  that's  all  the 
delicacies  that  ye  need.  See  this  sabre  :  behold 
your  mother,  lads  !  " 

The  poor  woman  is  not  at  the  end  of  her 
trials.  Taras  announces  his  immediate  depart- 
ure with  his  sons  :  she  protests  amid  tears  and 
lamentations ;  the  Cossack  ill-uses  her,  and 
cuts  short  her  complaints.  The  two  sons 
spend  in  their  father's  house  just  time  enough 
to  give  the  narrator  a  chance  to  describe  this 
interior  so  characteristic  and  brilliantly  colored. 
On  the  wall  hang  all  the  exquisite  ornaments  in 
which  barbarous  man  delights,  —  sabres,  whips, 
inlaid  arms,  reins  worked  in  gold  wire,  silver- 
nailed  clogs.  On  the  dressers  are  the  products 
of  civilization  brought  from  different  corners 
of  the  world,  —  masterpieces  of  Florentine  en- 
gravers, of  Venetian  glass-blowers,  of  Oriental 
goldsmiths ;  and  in  contrast  with  all  this  treas- 
ure, the  fruit  of  pillage,  piles  of  wood,  the 
stove  made  of  the  enamelled  bricks  loved  by 
the  Ukraine  peasant,  and  the  "  holy  images  "  in 
hieratic  posture,  these  Lares  indispensable  at 
every  Malo-Russian  fireside. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  39 

The  old  Bulba  has  declared  at  table,  before 
all  the  sotniks  of  his  polk '  who  were  present 
in  the  village,  that  he  should  be  off  next  day. 
The  mother  spends  the  night  in  tears,  crouch- 
ing by  her  children's  bedside,  gazing  upon 
them  with  a  look  full  of  anguish  like  the  swal- 
low of  the  steppe  on  her  nest.  She  still  hopes 
that  when  he  wakes,  Bulba  will  have  forgotten 
what  he  vowed  in  the  exaltation  of  the  bowl. 

"The  moon  from  the  height  of  heaven  had 
long  been  lighting  up  all  tho  dvor  filled  with 
sleepers,  the  thick  mass  of  willows,  and  the 
tall  grass  in  which  the  palisade  which  encir- 
cled the  dvor  was  drowned.  She  sat  all  night 
by  the  heads  of  her  beloved  sons  :  not  for  a 
moment  did  she  turn  her  eyes  from  them,  and 
she  had  no  thought  of  sleep.  Already  the 
horses,  prescient  of  dawn,  had  all  stretched 
themselves  upon  the  grass,  and  ceased  to  feed. 
The  topmost  leaves  of  the  willows  began  to 
whisper,  and  little  by  little  a  stream  of  inces- 
sant chattering  descended  through  them  to  the 
very  base.  Still  she  sat  in  the  selfsame  place  ; 
she  felt  no  fatigue  at  all,  and  she  wished  in 

*  Regiment. 


40  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

her  inmost  heart  that  the  night  might  last  as 
long  as  possible.  From  the  steppe  resounded 
the  sonorous  whinnying  of  a  foal.  Ruddy 
streaks  stretched  across  the  sky.  Bulba  sud- 
denly waked  up,  and  leaped  to  his  feet.  He 
remembered  very  well  all  that  he  had  deter- 
mined upon  the  evening  before." 

The  preparations  for  the  departure  are  de- 
scribed in  detail  with  Homeric  satisfaction. 
Bulba  commands  the  mother  to  give  her  sons 
her  blessing:  *'A  mother's  blessing  preserves 
from  all  danger  on  land  and  on  water."  The 
farewell  is  heart-rending :  the  poor  woman 
seizes  the  stirrup  of  her  youngest,  Andriif, 
clings  to  his  saddle,  and  twice,  in  a  paroxysm 
of  maternal  delirium,  throws  herself  in  front  of 
the  horses,  until  she  is  led  away.  Here  we 
see  the  features  of  a  painting  rapidly  sketched 
by  Gogol  in  another  novel.  The  elements  of 
this  scene  would,  moreover,  be  found  elsewhere 
still.  It  goes  back  to  the  ancient  diimas,  the 
cantilenas  of  the  Malo-Russian,  the  traces  of 
Iwhich  are  constantly  found  in  the  epic  of 
I'^Taras  Bulba." 

They  depart.    As  they  ride  along,  their  minds 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  4^ 

are  filled  with  melancholy  thoughts.  Andri'f 
reviews  mentally  a  romantic  adventure,  the  be- 
ginning of  which  dates  from  his  life  at  the 
seminary.  At  Kief,  in  order  to  pay  back  a  joke 
which  had  been  played  upon  him,  he  made  his 
way  into  the  room  of  a  wild  Polish  girl,  the 
daughter  of  the  voievod  of  Kovno.  The  Polish 
girl  made  sport  of  him  as  though  he  were  a 
savage ;  he  put  up  with  his  dismissal,  but  fell 
in  love  with  her.  It  is  natural  to  conjecture 
that  this  love  will  have  a  decisive  influence 
upon  Andrii's  conduct,  and  that  the  beautiful 
girl  will  appear  again.  For  the  time  being,  the 
activity  of  the  adventurous  life  just  beginning 
drives  away  these  recollections.  The  Cossacks 
cross  the  steppe,  and  the  narrator  makes  us 
realize  the  wholly  novel  charm  of  this  primitive 
existence,  with  its  sensations  no  less  strong 
than  simple,  in  these  immense  spaces  which 
under  apparent  monotony  are  so  varied  and 
marvellous. 

They  reach  the  Setch,  and  nothing  equals 
the  vigor,  the  color,  the  life,  of  the  scenes 
which  the  story-teller's  imagination  brings  be- 
fore our  eyes.     When  they  disembark  from  the 


42  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

ferry-boat,  which  after  a  three-hours'   passage 
has  brought  them  to  the  island  of  Khortitsa, 

Taras  Bulba  and  his  sons  reach  the  camp  by  an 

* 
entrance  echoing  with  the  hammers  of  twenty- 
five  smithies,  and  encumbered  with  the  packs 
of  pedlers.  A  huge  Zaporozhets  sleeping  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  road,  with  arms  and 
legs  stretched  out,  is  the  first  spectacle  which 
attracts  their  admiration.  Farther,  a  young 
Cossack  is  dancing  with  frenzy,  dripping  with 
sweat  in  his  winter  sheepskin  :  he  refuses  to 
take  it  off,  for  it  would  quickly  find  its  way  into 
the  pot-house.  The  merry  fellow  has  already 
drunk  up  his  cap,  his  belt,  and  his  embroidered 
>hilt.  You  feel  that  here  is  a  young,  exuberant, 
lindomitable  race.  You  have  to  go  back  to 
(/'  the  Iliad  to  meet  such  men,  and  to  Homer  to 
\find  again  this  freshness  of  delineation.  Other 
^scenes  awaken  comparisons  such  as  the  author 
of  "  Taras  Bulba  "  scarcely  anticipated.  His 
hero  finds  well-known  faces,  and  he  asks  after 
his  ancient  companions  in  arms.  They  are 
questions  of  Philoktetes  to  Neoptolemos,  and 
the  same  replies,  followed  by  the  same  melan- 
choly regrets :  "  And  Taras  Bulba  heard  only, 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  43 

as  reply,  that  Borodavka  had  been  hanged  at 
Tolopan  ;  that  Koloper  had  been  flayed  alive 
near  Kizikirmen ;  that  Pidsuitok's  head  had 
been  salted  in  a  cask,  and  sent  to  Tsar-grad 
(Constantinople)  itself.  The  old  Bulba  hung 
his  head,  and  after  a  long  pause  he  said,  *Good 
Kazaks  were  they.' " 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  scenes  in  which 
Gogol  has  described  for  us  the  customs  of  the 
Setch,  such  as  the  election  of  the  new  kotch- 
evoT ;  and  the  wiles  of  these  Zaporogs,  in  their 
longing  for  pillage,  to  take  up  the  offensive 
without  having  the  appearance  of  breaking 
treaties.  From  the  Ukraina,  news  is  brought 
which  arrives  at  the  very  nick  of  time.  The 
Poles  and  the  Jews  have  been  heaping  up  deeds 
of  infamy  :  the  Cossack  people  is  oppressed ; 
religion  is  odiously  persecuted.  The  whole 
camp  breaks  into  enthusiastic  fervor.  They 
fling  the  Jew  pedlers  {kramari)  into  the  water. 
One  of  them,  Yankel,  has  recognized  Taras  : 
he  throws  himself  on  his  knees  groaning  ;  he 
reminds  him  of  a  service  which  he  had  once 
done  Bulba  s  brother;  finally  he  escapes  pun- 
ishment, thanks  to  this  scornful  and  brutal  pro- 


44  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

tection.  A  few  hours  later,  Taras  finds  him 
established  under  a  tent,  selling  all  sorts  of 
provisions,  powder,  screws,  gun-flints,  at  the 
risk  of  being  caught  again,  and  *' killed  like  a 
sparrow." 

"Taras  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  see  what 
was  the  ruling  power  of  the  Jewish  race."  We 
catch  a  glimpse  here  of  that  lively  humor 
which  is  common  in  Gogol,  and  that  keenness 
of  observation  which  is  always  heightened  by 
a  satiric  flavor. 

The  Zaporogs  invade  the  Polish  soil.  They 
lay  siege  to  Dubno.  One  night,  Andrii  sees 
rising  before  him  a  woman's  form.  He  recog- 
nizes an  old  Tartar  servant  of  the  voi'evod's 
daughter.  She  comes  in  her  young  mistress's 
name  to  beg  a  little  bread.  The  besieged  town 
is  a  prey  to  all  the  torments  of  famine.  Andrii" 
is  anxious  instantly  to  make  his  way  inside  the 
walls.  He  is  introduced  by  a  subterranean  pas- 
sage by  which  the  old  woman  reached  the 
camp.  Andrii  sees  once  again  the  woman 
whom  he  loves,  and  it  is  all  over  with  him. 
''  He  \uill  never  see  again  the  Setch,  nor  his 
father's  village,   nor  the  house  of  God.     The 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  45 

Ukrai'na  will  never  behold  again  one  of  its 
bravest  sons.  The  old  Taras  will  tear  his  gray 
hair  by  handfuls,  cursing  the  day  and  the  hour 
when  to  his  own  shame  he  begot  such  a  son." 

Here  the  romance  halts  to  make  room  for 
the  epos.  Help  comes  to  the  city  almost  im- 
mediately after  Andri'i's  defection.  This  news 
is  brought  by  Yankel,  who,  true  Jew  that  he  is, 
has  succeeded  in  penetrating  the  city,  in  mak- 
ing his  escape,  in  seeing  every  thing,  hearing 
every  thing,  and  putting  a  good  profit  into  his 
pocket.  What  consoles  Taras  for  Andrii's  trea- 
son is  Ostap's  bravery,  who  is  made  ataman  on 
the  battle-field.  One  must  read  the  exploits 
of  giants,  where  the  cruelty  of  the  carnage  is 
relieved  by  the  beauty  of  the  coloring.  Pic- 
tures of  heroic  grandeur  light  up  these  sinister 
scenes,  and  the  magic  of  a  sparkling  palette 
makes  poetical  the  strong  touches  of  the  bold- 
est realism. 

Suddenly  the  news  reaches  the  camp  of  the 
Zaporogs,  that  the  Setch  has  been  plundered 
by  the  Tartars.  The  old  Bovdug,  the  Nestor  of 
this  second  Iliad,  proposes  a  plan  which  divides 
the  besieging  army  in  such  a  way  as  to  protect 


4^  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

at  once  the  interests  and  the  honor  of  the  Cos- 
sack nation.  One  part  sets  out  in  pursuit  of 
the  Tartars  :  the  others  remain  under  the  walls 
of  the  city,  with  the  old  Taras  as  ataman.  One 
would  like  to  quote  from  beginning  to  end 
these  lists  of  heroes,  with  their  Malo-Russian 
names  so  nearly  uniform  in  termination.  One 
would  like  to  reproduce  these  parentheses, 
these  episodes  devoted  to  the  complaisant  enu- 
meration of  the  deeds  of  prowess  of  all  these 
braves.  The  separation  is  marked  by  a  melan- 
choly full  of  grandeur.  The  feeling  of  the 
solidarity  which  has  grouped  all  these  men,  of 
the  brotherhood  which  unites  all  these  sons 
of  the  Ukraina,  is  expressed  with  rare  power. 
Taras  perceives  that  it  is  necessary  to  create 
some  diversion  for  this  profound  melancholy. 
He  gives  his  Cossacks  the  solace  of  precious 
wine,  and  the  stimulus  of  a  fortifying  word. 
They  drink  to  religion,  the  Setch,  and  glory. 
"  Never  will  a  splendid  action  perish  ;  and  the 
glory  of  the  Cossacks  shall  not  be  lost  like  a 
grain  of  powder  dropped  from  the  pan,  and 
fallen  by  chance." 

The  battle  begins  anew;    the  cannon  make 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  47 

wide  gaps  in  the  ranks,  and  many  mothers  will 
not  see  again  their  sons  fallen  this  day.  "Vainly 
the  widow  will  stop  the  passers-by,  and  gaze 
into  their  eyes  to  see  if  among  them  is  not 
found  the  man  whom  best  she  loves  in  all  the 
world."  What  an  accent  in  all  that,  and  how 
we  discover  in  the  labored  arrangement  of  the 
writer,  the  native  force  of  the  primitive  song, 
the  depth  of  the  feeling  of  the  people !  This 
arises  in  fact  from  the  Malo-Russian  folk-song; 
and  so  also  do  those  challenges  which  recall 
those  of  the  heroes  of  Argos  or  of  Troy,  and 
that  sublime  death-refrain  which  each  hero 
murmurs  as  he  dies,  "  Flourish  the  Rttssian 
soil ! "  and  likewise  those  rhythmic  questions 
alternating  with  replies  like  couplets,  "  Is  there 
yet  powder  in  the  powder-flasks  }  Is  not  the 
Cossack  power  enfeebled  ?  Do  not  the  Cossacks 
now  show  signs  of  yielding?"  —  **  There  still  is 
powder  in  the  powder-flasks  ;  the  Cossack  power 
is  not  enfeebled  ;  the  Cossacks  do  not  yet  begin 
to  yield." 

At  the  height  of  the  battle,  Andri'i,  who  is 
fighting  like  a  lion  at  the  head  of  the  Poles, 
finds  himself  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Taras 


48  NIKOLAI  GOGOL, 

Bulba.  Here  follows  an  admirable  scene,  and 
long  admired,  but  admired  in  an  imitation.  Is 
not  the  conclusion  of  "  Mateo  Falcone  "  an  in- 
vention stolen  from  Gogol  ?  In  the  two  tales, 
the  father  becomes  the  arbiter  of  the  treason 
committed  by  the  son  ;  the  details  of  this  exe- 
cution, the  accompanying  words,  the  calculated 
impression  of  coldness  in  the  account,  meant  to 
add  to  the  horror  of  the  deed, — all  the  resem- 
blances seem  to  form  a  literary  theft,  the  traces 
of  which  Merimee  would  have  done  better  not 
to  hide ;  and  we  have  almost  the  right  to  im- 
pute to  him  this  intention  when  we  see  the 
part  that  he  took  in  disparagement  of  "Taras 
Bulba." 

This  tragedy  is  followed  by  a  new  drama 
still  more  painful.  Ostap  is  taken  prisoner, 
and  carried  to  Warsaw  for  execution.  Taras, 
left  for  dead,  is  picked  up  by  his  followers.  He 
recovers,  and,  unable  to  survive  his  beloved  son, 
goes  to  risk  his  life  in  the  attempt  to  rescue 
him.  Through  Yankel's  craft  he  makes  his 
way  into  Warsaw,  but  the  assistance  of  the 
Polish  Jews  fails  to  get  him  within  the  prison 
walls.      He   arrives   only   in   time   to   see   the 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  Ar*^ 

execution  of  the  Cossacks.  Ostap  is  broken 
on  the  wheel  before  his  father's  eyes.  In  a 
moment  of  weakness  the  heroic  lad  utters  the 
cry  of  the  Crucified  on  Golgotha :  **  Father, 
where  art  thou  }     Dost  thou  hear  this  }  " 

"Yes,  I  hear,"  replies  a  mighty  voice  from 
the  midst  of  the  throng.  "A  detachment  of 
mounted  soldiers  hastened  anxiously  to  scan 
the  throng  of  people.  Yankel  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  when  the  horsemen  had  got  a 
short  distance  from  him,  he  turned  round  in 
terror  to  look  for  Taras :  but  Taras  was  no 
longer  beside  him ;  every  trace  of  him  was 
lost."  A  little  later  on,  and  Taras  has  seized 
his  arms,  and  is  making  a  terrible  "funeral 
mass"  in  honor  of  his  son.  At  last  he  dies, 
pinned  down  like  Prometheus,  and  burned 
alive ;  but  from  the  midst  of  the  flames  he 
tastes  the  triumph  which  his  last  shout  of 
command  has  just  assured  to  his  soldiers. 


50  NIKOLA'i  GOGOL, 


V. 


When  Gogol  was  spoken  of  to  the  great 
romancer  Turgenief,  he  said  simply,  "  He  is  our 
master;  from  him  we  get  our  best  qualities." 
But  when  Turgenief  came  to  speak  of  "Taras 
Bulba,"  he  grew  animated,  and  went  on  with 
an  accent  of  admiration  which,  for  my  part,  I 
cannot  forget,  and  said,  "The  day  when  our 
Gogol  stood  the  colossal  Taras  on  his  feet,  he 
showed  genius." 

It  would  have  been  a  very  delicate  question, 
to  ask  Turgenief  his  opinion  of  another  of 
Gogol's  little  masterpieces,  *'  Old-time  Propri- 
etors." The  question  would  have  seemed  in- 
discreet to  the  author  of  "  Virgin  Soil ; "  for 
when  this  last  romance  of  Turgenief's  appeared, 
all  the  Russian  readers,  when  they  came  to 
the  charming  chapter  where  the  two  old  men, 
Fimushka  and  Fomushka,  come  upon  the  stage, 
uttered  the  same  cry :   "  It  is  Gogol,  pure  and 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  5  ' 

simple!  it  is  the  Starosvy^tski^ Pomyishchiki !'' 
If  the  model  and  the  imitation  are  examined 
closely,  a  great  quantity  of  differences  in  detail 
are  unravelled ;  and  it  may  be  said  that  here 
as  elsewhere  Turgenief  is  personal,  original  in 
his  work,  in  his  own  fashion.  But  at  first 
glance  one  has  the  right  to  be  struck  by  the 
resemblances. 

"  Old-time  Proprietors  "  is  a  novel  of  a  num- 
ber of  pages.  In  this  novel  there  are  no  in- 
trigue, no  abrupt  changes,  nothing  fantastic, 
no  theatrical  climaxes,  no  surprising  characters, 
no  unexpected  sentiments.  Gogol  dispensed 
with  all  the  elements  of  success  :  he  seems  to 
have  wished  to  reduce  the  interest  to  the  mini- 
mum, and  he  wrote  a  masterpiece. 

He  introduces  us  to  one  of  those  country 
houses  whose  appearance  alone  tells  the  story 
of  the  calm  and  peaceful  life  of  its  inhabitants  : 
"  Never  had  a  desire  crossed  the  hedge  which 
shut  in  the  little  dvor.'' 

In  this  habitation  of  sages,  all  is  friendly, 
all  is  kindly,  "even  to  the  phlegmatic  baying 
of  the  dogs."  What  is  to  be  said  of  the  recep- 
tion which  we  meet  with  at  the  hands  of  the 


52  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

owners  of  the  dwelling  ?  The  husband,  Afan- 
asi  Ivanovitch,  generally  sitting  down  and  bent 
over,  always  smiles,  whether  he  be  speaking 
or  listening.  His  wife,  Pulkheria  Ivanovna,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  serious ;  but  there  is  so  much 
goodness  in  her  eyes  and  in  all  of  her  features, 
that  a  smile  would  be  too  much,  would  render 
insipid  her  expression  of  face  which  is  already 
so  sweet. 

Afanasi  Ivanovitch  and  Pulkheria  Ivanovna 
had  grown  up  without  children :  thus  they  had 
come  to  love  each  other  with  that  affection 
which  is  usually  reserved  for  beings  in  whom 
one's  youthful  days  seem  to  bloom  anew. 
Their  youth  had  been  full  of  life,  however,  like 
all  youth,  but  it  was  far  away.  The  husband 
had  served  in  the  army ;  he  had  eloped  with 
his  sweetheart.  But  this  wild  period  had  been 
followed  by  so  many  days  of  a  calm,  secluded, 
uniform,  absolutely  happy  existence,  that  they 
never  spoke  of  the  past,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
if  they  ever  thought  of  it  either. 

These  delicious  hours  are  disturbed  only  by 
such  events  as  an  indigestion,  or  a  pain  in  the 
bowels.     They  are  filled  only  by  collations  and 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  5:. 

repasts  of  greater  or  less  degree.  They  leave 
room  for  no  other  care  than  that  of  varying 
the  bill  of  fare,  of  bringing  into  agreement  the 
most  diverse  viands,  of  tempting  appetites  sated 
but  not  satiated. 

At  first  thought,  nothing  seems  more  com- 
monplace than  such  a  subject.  What  poetry, 
what  interest  even,  could  be  attached  to  that 
complaining  belly  whose  ever-recurring  pangs 
must  be  lulled  to  sleep  the  livelong  day  and  a 
portion  of  the  night }  Herein  shines  forth  all 
the  power  of  Gogol's  talent.  He  paints  ego- 
tism for  us,  double  egotism :  but  he  paints  it 
with  such  delicate  shades  that  the  picture 
excites  something  more  than  admiration ;  it 
arouses  a  sort  of  sympathy. 

Gogol  knows  well  that  happy  people  are  the 
best  people ;  that  their  joy  radiates  out,  as  it 
were,  and  that  it  warms,  lightens,  enlivens, 
just  as  sadness,  even  though  legitimate,  chills, 
wounds,  warns  away,  every  thing  that  ap- 
proaches it.  The  two  old  people  are  happy, 
not  so  much  by  the  quality  of  the  pleasures 
which  they  taste,  or  by  the  value  of  the  goods 
which  they  enjoy,  as  by  the  assurance  which 


54  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

they  feel  that  as  long  as  they  live  they  are  not 
going  to  see  this  luxurious  abundance  dis- 
appear, nor  these  far  from  ruinous  pleasures 
lose  their  flavor.  Notwithstanding  the  thefts 
of  the  prikashckik,  of  the  housekeeper,  of  the 
hands,  of  the  visitors,  of  their  coachman,  of 
their  valets,  "this  fertile  and  beneficent  soil 
produced  all  things  in  such  quantity,  Afanasi 
Ivanovitch  and  Pulkheria  Ivanovna  had  so  few 
necessities,  that  all  these  depredations  could 
have  no  injurious  effect  on  their  well-being." 

These  two  fortunate  people  are  worshipped 
for  their  indulgence,  which  comes  from  uncon- 
cern ;  and  for  their  liberality,  which  takes  its 
rise,  if  not  from  the  vanity  of  giving,  as  La 
Rochefoucauld  would  have  expressed  it,  yet  at 
least  from  the  need  of  feeling  further  satisfac- 
tion, after  having  taken  full  enjoyment  of  what 
is  indispensable,  in  allowing  others  to  have  a 
certain  portion  of  the  superfluous. 

In  the  same  way  their  pity  is,  above  all,  a 
selfish  consideration,  and  a  movement  of  dismay 
at  the  idea  of  falling  into  such  disagreeable  or 
trying  situations  as  they  have  seen  in  the  cases 
of   others.     "Wait,"   says   Afanasi    Ivanovitch 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  55 

to  each  visitor :  "  we  don't  know  what  may 
happen.  Robbers  may  attack  you,  or  you  may 
meet  with  rascals."  "God  protect  us  from 
robbers  !  "  said  Pulkheria  Ivanovna  :  "  why  tell 
such  stories  when  it  is  night } " 

In  this  association  for  happiness,  which  is 
scarcely  any  thing  else  than  the  joining  of  two 
aspirations  towards  well-being,  how  did  Gogol 
succeed  in  bringing  about  his  return  to  the 
idea  of  sacrifice  t  In  point  of  fact,  one  of  these 
good  old  egotists  acts  to  a  certain  degree  in  a 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  without  ever  rising  above 
self-love ;  becomes  partially  absorbed  in  the 
affection  of  the  companion,  who  is  more  indif- 
ferent, more  inclined  to  accept  fondling  with- 
out offering  return.  All  love,  it  has  been  said, 
is  reduced  in  last  analysis  to  this :  the  one 
kisses,  the  other  offers  the  cheek.  In  this  case 
the  one  who  offers  the  cheek — that  is  to  say, 
the  one  who  permits  the  fondling,  and  limits 
all  manifestations  of  feeling  to  not  ill-natured 
but  not  kindly  teasing  —  is  the  husband.  His 
wife  adores  him  after  her  fashion.  This  adora- 
tion it  is  vain  to  express  in  vulgar  language, 
and  translate  by  attentions  of  far  from  exalted 


5 6  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

order :  it  is  real,  and  it  brings  to  the  reader's 
lips  a  smile  full  of  indulgence,  even  at  the 
moment  when  it  compels  from  the  eyes  a  tear 
of  a  rare  quality,  the  discreet  witness  of  the 
deepest  and  purest  feeling. 

This  good  old  woman  feels  that  she  is  dying ; 
and  at  the  moment  when  death  ''comes  to 
take  her,"  she  knows  only  one  grief,  —  that  of 
leaving  alone,  and,  as  it  were,  orphaned,  this 
poor  old  child  for  whom  she  has  lived,  and  who 
without  her  will  not  know  what  to  do  with  his 
sad  life.  With  prayers,  even  with  threats,  good 
soul  that  she  is,  she  intrusts  him  to  a  maid- 
servant old  as  themselves ;  and  after  making 
all  arrangements  and  dispositions,  so  that  her 
companion  "  need  not  feel  too  sorely  her  ab- 
sence," she  goes  whither  death  calls  her. 

Afanasi  Ivanovitch  at  first  is  overwhelmed 
with  grief.  On  his  return  from  the  funeral, 
his  solitude  comes  to  him  with  the  sensation 
of  an  irreparable  void  ;  "  and  he  began  to  sob 
bitterly,  inconsolably ;  and  the  tears  flowed,  — 
flowed  like  two  streams  from  his  dull  eyes," 
Is  it  not  striking  to  find  here  the  expressions 
of  Homer }    *'  He  sat  down,  pouring  forth  tears 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  57 

like  a  stream  of  dark  water,  which  spreads  its 
shady  water  along  the  cliff  where  even  the 
goats  do  not  climb."  And  is  there  not  here, 
as  in  the  epic  tale  of  Taras  Bulba,  the  power  of 
the  pathetic,  the  savory  freshness  of  emotion, 
the  secret  of  which  is  known  only  to  primitive 
poetry  ? 

But  what  is  not  primitive,  what,  on  the  con- 
trary, reveals  Gogol  as  a  very  well-informed 
writer,  a  very  watchful  psychologist,  a  satirist 
whose  scheme  was  well  thought  out  in  advance, 
and  whose  slightest  details  are  calculated  with 
perfect  precision,  is  the  little  parable  which  at 
the  most  touching  moment  of  this  tale  inter- 
rupts its  thread,  and  brings  out  its  hidden  sig- 
nificance, its  moral  bearing,  its  psychological 
lesson. 

Gogol  leaves  the  husband  and  wife  at  the 
very  hour  of  their  most  touching  separation, 
and  tells  us  rapidly  the  romance  of  a  young 
man  madly  in  love  with  a  mistress  who  is 
dying.  In  the  effervescence  of  his  grief,  the 
lover  twice  in  succession  tries  to  kill  himself  : 
the  first  time,  by  a  pistol-shot  in  the  head  ; 
somewhat  later,  when   he  is  barely  recovered, 


58  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

by  throwing  himself  under  the  wheel  of  a  pass- 
ing carriage.  Again  he  recovers  ;  **  and  a  year 
later,"  says  Gogol,  "  I  met  him  in  a  fashiona- 
ble salon.  He  was  seated  at  a  table,  playing 
bostouy  and  was  saying  in  a  free  and  easy  tone, 
*  Little  Misery.'  Behind  him,  leaning  on  his 
chair,  stood  his  young  and  pretty  wife,  toying 
with  the  counters  in  the  basket." 

The  old  Afanasi  Ivanovitch  does  not  try  to 
kill  himself;  but  he  dies  slowly  day  by  day 
from  the  ever-growing  regret  for  her  whom  he 
has  lost,  from  the  wound,  always  more  keen  and 
more  deep,  which  has  been  left  in  his  heart,  or, 
if  the  expression  be  preferred,  left  in  his  very 
flesh  by  the  torn  cluster  of  his  imperishable 
habits. 

**  I  have  never  written  from  imagination," 
said  Gogol :  "  it  is  a  talent  which  I  do  not  pos- 
sess." "Pushkin,"  he  says  in  another  place, 
*'has  hit  it  right  when  in  speaking  of  me  he 
declared  that  he  had  never  known  in  any  other 
writer  an  equal  gift  of  making  a  vivid  picture 
of  the  miseries  of  actual  life,  in  sketching  with 
a  firm  touch  the  nothingness  of  a  good-for- 
nothing  man."     This  talent,  which  will  be  seen 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  59 

illustrated  in  such  a  brilliant  way  in  the  great 
romance  of  **  Dead  Souls,"  already  begins  to 
give  a  striking  character  to  the  stories  written 
by  Gogol  about  St.  Petersburg.  Here  he  de- 
scribes in  a  most  fascinating  way  the  morti- 
fications, the  humiliations,  the  tortures  even, 
which  he  had  felt  or  anticipated  at  the  time 
of  the  painful  beginning  of  his  literary  career, 
and  his  wearisome  sojourn  in  the  bureaucracy. 

**The  Portrait,"  for  example,  is  a  fantastic 
tale  which  is  distinguished  from  the  stories  of 
the  former  collection  by  a  satiric  accent  full  of 
bitterness.  It  is  the  account  of  a  painter  kept  A 
in  the  depths  of  wretchedness  just  as  long  as 
he  takes  his  art  seriously.  A  happy  chance 
places  in  his  hands  a  sum  of  money  which 
allows  him  to  engage  rooms  on  the  Nevsky 
Prospekt.  He  allows  trickery  to  usurp  the 
place  of  work.  He  grows  rich  from  the  day 
when  he  loses  his  talent :  however,  the  feeling 
of  having  deserted  his  ideal  follows  him  like 
remorse,  and  this  remorse  leads  him  straight 
to  madness. 

**  The  Cloak  "  is  the  story  of  a  small  official, 
gentle,  conscientious,  but  timid,  slow,  and  ab- 


60  NIKOLAI  GOGOL, 

sent-minded.  The  poor  devil  has  a  fixed  pur- 
pose, —  the  purchase  of  a  cloak  to  keep  him 
from  the  cold.  This  never-to-be-realized  idea 
finally  unsettles  his  somewhat  feeble  brain. 

It  is  noticeable  that  the  most  lugubrious  re- 
frains serve  for  the  conclusion  of  these  different 
moral  analyses.  *'  The  recollections  of  a  Luna- 
tic," known  in  France  under  the  title  "  Les 
Memoires  d'un  Fou,"  take  the  reader  one  step 
farther  into  this  region  of  mental  trouble,  which 
is  explored  with  a  boldness  truly  disquieting. 
Involuntarily  one  thinks  of  the  author's  own 
final  insanity ;  and  the  tale  has  the  effect  of  a 
prelude,  or  at  least  of  a  prognostication. 

At  the  risk  of  repeti-tion,  I  lay  especial  em- 
phasis upo|i  this  evolution  which  took  place  in 
the  mind  and  in  the  work  of  Nikolai'  Gogol. 
In  the  "Evenings  at  the  Farm,"  the  satirical 
note  scarcely  appears,  except  in  a  few  details ; 
it  is  found  tempered,  and  as  it  were  refreshed, 
by  a  pure  breath  of  poetry  ;  Nature  spoke  there 
almost  as  much  as  man,  and  she  spoke  a  lan- 
guage of  very  penetrating  sweetness  and  of 
superb  grandeur.  In  the  novels  on  St.  Peters- 
burg,  satire  has  already  entirely  usurped  her 


NIKOLAI'  GOGOL.  6 1 

place.  There  is  added,  to  be  sure,  an  element 
of  fancy,  and  of  caprice,  which  is  no  longer  the 
poetry  of  the  first  novels,  but  which  still  draws 
on  the  imagination ;  a  troubled,  unregulated 
imagination,  which  in  Gogol  shows  a  physical 
and  moral  state  sufficiently  akin  to  the  hyper- 
aesthesia  of  seers,  of  the  insane.  This  period 
of  excitement  is  followed  by  several  years  of 
rather  morose  observation  and  contemplation, 
during  which  Gogol  writes  or  plans  for  his  two 
great  works,  the  comedy  of  *'The  Revizor,''  and 
the  romance  of  "The  Dead  Souls."  Here  we 
are  in  full  satire,  and  the  satire  is  fully  in  the 
domain  of  reality, — reality  often  vulgar,  and 
sometimes  odious.  The  author  paints  only 
what  he  sees  ;  and  if  amid  the  objects  of  his 
contemplation,  and  his  keen  pitiless  glance, 
there  passes  often  as  it  were  a  shade  of  illusion, 
it  is  only  a  gloomy  illusion,  a  reflection  of 
melancholy  obscuring  the  real  day,  and  making 
the  colors  of  things  more  sombre,  the  aspect  of 
men  more  pitiable. 

It  is  not  that  the  romance  of  "The  Dead 
Souls,"  and  especially  the  comedy  of  "The 
Revisory*    have    not    details,    or    even    whole 


62  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

scenes,  which  are  very  amusing.  There  is  no 
satire  without  gayety ;  and  Gogol  understands 
how  to  indulge  in  raillery,  that  is  to  say,  how 
to  make  fun  at  the  expense  of  another,  as 
perfectly  as  any  satirist  that  ever  lived.  But 
never  was  laughter  more  bitter  than  his,  and 
it  never  came  nearer  the  ancient  definition, 
^^  cachinmts  perfidum  rideits!^  This  bitterness 
of  style  is  only  too  well  explained  by  a  morbid 
state  of  mind,  the  first  manifestations  of  which 
can  be  traced  back  even  to  Gogol's  infancy, 
while  its  tragic  end  was  madness. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  63 


VI, 


The  comedy  of  "The  Revizor''  (The  Inspect- 
or-General) is  therefore  a  satire,  —  a  satire 
on  Russian  functionaryism.  The  action  takes 
place  in  a  small  provincial  city.  The  tchinov- 
niks  of  the  district  have  met  at  the  mayor's,  for 
news  has  just  been  brought  of  the  approaching 
visit  of  the  revizor.  "  What  can  you  expect  ?  " 
asks  the  mayor '  with  a  sigh  :  "it  is  a  judgment 
from  God !  Hitherto  it  has  fallen  on  other 
cities.     It  is  our  turn  now." 

Like  a  prudent  man,  he  has  taken  his  meas- 
ures, and  he  advises  the  other  employees  to  do 
likewise.  "  You,"  he  says  to  the  director  of  the 
hospital,  —  "you  will  do  well  to  take  pains  that 
every  thing  is  on  a  good  footing.  .  .  .  Let 
*em  put  on  white  cotton  nightcaps,  and  don't 
allow  the  patients  to  look  like  chimney-sweeps 
as   they   usually  do. — And   you,"   he  says  to 

*  Gorodnitchi. 


64  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

the  doctor,  "  you  must  look  out  that  each  bed 
has  its  label  in  Latin,  or  some  other  language. 
.  .  .  And  it  would  be  better  not  to  have  so 
many  patients,  for  they  won't  fail  to  throw 
the  blame  on  the  administration."  The  director 
of  the  hospital  explains  the  method  of  treat- 
ment which  is  adopted.  No  costly  medicines  : 
man  is  a  simple  being;  if  he  dies,  he  dies; 
if  he  recovers,  he  recovers.  Besides,  any  other 
method  would  be  scarcely  practicable  with  a 
German  doctor  who  does  not  understand  Rus- 
sian, and  consequently  cannot  tell  at  all  what 
his  patients  say. 

"You,"  he  says  to  the  justice  of  the  peace, 
*'pay  attention  to  your  tribunal!  Your  boy 
brings  his  geese  into  your  great  hall,  and  they 
come  quacking  between  the  legs  of  the  plain- 
tiffs. .  .  .  And  your  audience-chamber  looks  like 
—  the  Devil  knows  what  !  a  horsewhip  in  the 
midst  of  briefs  !  and  the  assessor,  who  always 
exhales  an  odor  as  though  he  had  just  come 
out  of  a  distillery ! "  But  the  most  serious 
part  of  the  matter  is  the  rumors  of  corruption. 
"A  trifle,"  replies  the  justice:  "a  few  grey- 
hounds   as    presents."      And   he   immediately 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  65 

returns  allusion  for  allusion  :  **  Ah  !  I  did  not 
say  that  if  some  one  had  presented  me  with 
a  five-hundred-ruble  shuba,  and  a  shawl  for 
my  wife  "  —  The  mayor  interrupts  warmly, 
with  that  tone  of  hypocrisy  so  common  to  the 
Russian  tchinovnik,  ''  That's  all  right !  Do 
you  know  why  you  take  presents  of  dogs  ? 
It's  because  you  don't  believe  in  God.  You 
never  go  to  church.  I  at  least  have  some 
religion:  Fridays  I  go  to  mass.  But  you  — 
Ah  !  I  know  you  well.  When  you  begin  to 
descant  on  the  way  the  world  was  made,  your 
hair  stands  up  on  your  head. 

"  And  you,"  he  says  to  the  principal  of  the 
college,  —  "you  watch  over  your  professors. 
Their  actions  are  suspicious ;  there  is  one  who 
so  far  forgets  himself  in  his  chair  as  to  put 
his  fingers  behind  his  cravat,  and  to  scratch  his 
chin  :  it  is  not  necessary  to  teach  the  young 
habits  of  independence."  The  postmaster  re- 
mains. The  mayor  urges  him  to  open  a  few 
letters,  so  as  to  assure  himself  that  there  are 
no  denunciations.  "You  need  not  teach  me 
my  trade,"  replies  the  postmaster :  "  I  have 
nothing   else   to  do."     In   fact,  it    is   his   daily 


66  NIKOLA'i  GOGOL. 

amusement :  he  could  not  do  without  this  read- 
ing. Some  letters  are  as  well  composed  as  the 
Moscow  journals.  He  has  at  this  very  moment 
in  his  pocket  a  young  lieutenant's  letter, — 
reminiscences  of  a  ball,  an  elegant  description. 
The  mayor  begs  him  to  hold  back  every  peti- 
tion of  complaint.  "There's  nothing  to  fear 
any  other  way.  It  would  be  a  different  thing 
if  this  were  generally  the  custom  ;  but  it's  just 
a  little  family  affair,  the  way  we  do  it." 

Two  loungers  of  the  place,'  two  self-impor- 
tant bustlers,  in  their  eager  rivalry  of  tittle- 
tattle  and  gossip,  run  up  all  out  of  breath,  and, 
after  a  great  deal  of  desultory  talk,  are  delivered 
of  the  great  news.  He  has  come,  the  govern- 
ment tcJiinovnik,  the  rcvizor ;  he  saw  them  eat- 
ing salmon  at  the  hotel ;  he  cast  a  terrible  look 
at  their  plates.  "  Akh  I  God  in  heaven,"  cries 
the  mayor ;  "  have  pity  upon  us,  miserable 
offenders ! " 

And  here  follows  a  general  confession,  a  re- 
capitulation of  the  most  recent  sins  of  moment : 
an  under-officer's  wife  whipped,  prisoners  de- 
prived of  their  rations,  wine-shops  established  in 

*  Bobtchinski  and  Dobtchinski  by  name. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  6/ 

open  defiance  of  the  law,  the  streets  not  swept. 
"  How  old  is  he  ?  He's  a  young  man  ;  then 
there's  more  hope  than  with  an  old  devil. 
Quick !  orders,  measures ;  and  let  us  get  ahead 
of  him.  My  hat !  my  sword  !  but  the  sword  is 
ruined. 

"That  cursed  hatter!  He  sees  that  the  mayor 
has  an  old  sword,  and  does  not  send  him  a  new 
one.  What  a  pack  of  villains  !  AkJi  !  my  fine 
fellows !  I  am  perfectly  sure  they  have  their 
complaints  all  ready,  and  that  they  will  rise  up 
right  out  of  the  cobble-stones.  Let  everybody 
take  hold  of  the  street.  The  Devil  take  the 
street !  Fetch  me  a  broom,  I  say,  and  have 
the  street  cleaned  in  front  of  the  hotel ;  and 
let  it  be  well  done.  —  Listen !  Take  care 
there,  yoii !  I  know  you  well.  You  put  on 
a  saintly  look,  and  yet  you  hide  the  silver 
spoons  in  your  boots.  You  look  out !  Don't 
you  dare  to  stir  me  up !  What  kind  of  a  job 
did  you  concoct  at  the  tailor's  }  He  gave  you 
two  arshins  of  cloth  to  make  you  a  uniform, 
and  you  gobbled  up  the  whole  piece.  Atten- 
tion !     You  steal   too  much  for  your  rank." 

That  phrase  has  taken  its  place  among  the 


68  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

popular  proverbs  in  Russia,  and  our  Moliere 
has  not  many  more  pointed.  Exactly  as  in 
Moliere,  the  situation  is  spun  out  and  renewed 
with  a  liveliness  which  suffers  no  loss  of  force. 
On  the  mayor's  lips,  command  follows  com- 
mand ;  ideas  crowd  upon  one  another ;  words 
get  tripped  up ;  exclamations  of  fury,  of  terror, 
fly  out  ;  the  note  of  hypocrisy  mingles  with  his 
main  characteristic,  the  violence  of  which  forces 
its  way  to  the  surface  under  false  appearances. 
And  this  inward  trouble  is  rendered  visible,  as 
it  were,  by  stage  tricks,  not  free  from  vulgarity, 
but  extremely  amusing.  *'You  have  the  hat- 
box  in  your  hand  :  here  is  your  hat."  All  this 
forms  a  rude,  rough,  but  new  and  irresistible 
element  of  comedy. 

The  personage  who  thus  sets  a  whole  city  by 
the  ears  is  a  poor  devil,  himself  in  a  peck  of 
trouble.  Klestakof  has  left  Petersburg,  where 
he  is  a  small  official,  in  order  to  spend  his  vaca- 
tion in  the  province.  On  the  way  he  has  gam- 
bled, has  emptied  his  pockets,  and  he  is  waiting 
for  his  father  to  send  him  a  fresh  supply  of 
funds  to  pay  travelling  expenses  and  the  land- 
lord's bill.     We  learn  all  these  details  from  his 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  69 

valet  Osip.  He  it  is  who,  in  his  description  of 
the  situation,  gives  us  the  key  to  his  master's 
character.  "  One  day  he  lives  like  a  lord,  the 
next  he  perishes  with  starvation.  But  we 
must  have  carriages.  Every  day  he  sends  me 
to  get  theatre-tickets.  This  lasts  a  week,  and 
then  he  tells  me  to  bring  him  his  new  suit  of 
clothes  from  the  nail.  A  suit  costs  him  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  rubles.  He  spends  twenty  rubles 
for  a  waistcoat.  I  won't  answer  for  the  trou- 
sers :  it's  impossible  to  tell  what  that  amounts 
to.  And  the  wherefore  of  all  this }  the  where- 
fore }  I  will  tell  you.  He  does  not  attend  to 
his  business ;  he  goes  for  a  walk  on  the  Presh- 
pektive  (the  Nevsky  Prospekt).  He  plays  his 
game.  Akh!  if  the  old  gentleman  knew  all  this 
business,  he  would  not  bother  his  head  whether 
his  son  held  a  place  in  government :  he  would 
take  off  his  shirt,  and  give  him  such  a  drubbing 
as  would  warm  him  up  for  a  week." 

In  this  comedy  of  "The  Revizor''  the  valet 
Osip  fills  a  comic  role  quite  like  that  of  the  fool 
in  Shakspcare,  or  the  gracioso  in  the  Spanish 
comedy.  The  Russian  buffoon,  however,  is  a 
clown   rather  than   a  joker.     He  does   not  en- 


70  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

liven  the  scene  with  jests :  he  makes  the  specta- 
tor spHt  his  sides  by  his  artless  blunders.  This 
smacks  of  farce,  and  may  seem  overdone.  But 
exaggeration  in  this  way  is  not  in  the  power 
of  every  one.  It  is  the  splendid  fault  of  Aristo- 
phanes, and  even  of  Moliere.  Let  us  remember 
what  Fenelon,  La  Bruyere,  and  Rousseau  said 
of  it.  And  after  all,  in  spite  of  the  famous 
definition,  is  it  not  the  greatest  triumph  of  the 
comic  poet  to  make  the  fastidious  laugh,  and 
especially  smile  ?  An  excellent  actor  of  our 
own  time  defined  the  great  comedian  as  one 
who  has  only  to  show  his  grimace  at  the  open- 
ing of  a  door,  to  make  the  whole  public  shout 
with  laughter.  Are  not  the  author  and  the 
actor  of  genius  told  by  the  same  characteristic  t 
Have  not  both  of  them  the  secret  of  this 
grimace  ? 

To  return  to  the  analysis  of  the  piece  :  Kles- 
takof  scolds  his  valet  because  he  no  longer 
dares  to  report  the  traveller's  complaints  at  the 
office.  The  landlord  treats  this  stranger  as  a 
man  who  does  not  pay  his  bills.  After  many 
negotiations  he  permits  him  to  have  some  dish- 
water as  apology  for  soup,  and    some    burned 


NTKOLA'l  GOGOL.  /I 

sole-leather  in  place  of  the  roast.  Amid  the 
vociferations  wrung  from  him  by  such  an  out- 
rage, Klestakof  beholds  Osip  returning  to  an- 
nounce a  call  from  the  mayor.  He  imagines 
that  the  official  has  come  in  order  to  put  him 
in  arrest,  with  which  he  was  threatened  only  a 
few  moments  since ;  and  he  endeavors  immedi- 
ately to  exonerate  himself  in  the  mayor's  eyes. 
His  explanations,  enigmatical  for  the  still  more 
anxious  visitor,  clear  only  for  the  reader  or  the 
audience,  have  no  other  eEect  than  to  increase 
the  terror  of  the  high  functionary,  who  thinks 
that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  a  crafty  inspector- 
general.  In  the  incoherent  remarks,  full  of  in- 
genuous confessions,  which  the  little  tchinovnik 
makes  to  him,  the  mayor  hears  only  certain 
portentous  words,  —  the  prison,  the  minister. 
He  is  only  half  re-assured  when  the  conversa- 
tion offers  him  a  chance  to  proffer  some  money 
and  insist  on  its  acceptance. 

Kldstakof  finally  blurts  out  how  matters  really 
stand.  "  I  am  here,  and  I  have  not  a  kopek." 
The  mayor  sees  in  this  avowal  only  a  further 
illustration  of  cunning.  He  immediately  offers 
his  services.     The  stranger  borrows  two  hun- 


72  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

dred  rubles  of  him.  **Take  it,"  he  says  ea- 
gerly; "don't  trouble  to  count  it,  it  isn't  worth 
while  : "  and  instead  of  two  hundred  rubles,  he 
slips  four  hundred  into  his  hand.  And  now 
behold  our  two  sharpers  delighted  to  find  them- 
selves so  easily  in  agreement.  Klestakof  sus- 
pects that  there  is  some  misunderstanding,  but 
he  takes  pains  not  to  say  a  word  which  may 
bring  about  an  explanation.  The  mayor  thinks 
that  he  can  detect,  under  Klestakof's  ambigu- 
ous actions,  an  immensely  profound  plan.  "  He 
wants  his  incognito  respected.  Two  can  play 
that  game.  Let  us  make  believe  not  know  who 
he  is."  While  the  traveller's  baggage  is  trans- 
ported to  a  place  more  worthy  of  him,  —  that 
is,  to  the  mayor's  own  dwelling,  — they  drive  off 
in  a  drozhsky  to  visit  the  college  and  the  hos- 
pital. They  hastily  turn  their  backs  on  the 
prison,  which  offers  not  the  slightest  attraction 
for  Klestakof.  "  What's  the  good  of  seeing  the 
prison  t  It  would  be  much  better  to  give  our 
attention  to  institutions  of  beneficence  !  " 

Here  we  are  now  in  the  mayor's  house. 
They  are  waiting  for  Klestakof ;  and  the  en- 
trance of  this  important  personage  is  very  well 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  73 

led  up  to  by  two  or  three  scenes  of  chattering,  in 
which  the  voices  of  the  mayor's  wife  and  daugh- 
ter are  dominant.  At  last  he  appears,  followed 
by  the  mayor  and  other  tchinovniks  of  the  dis- 
trict. They  have  just  returned  from  visiting 
the  hospital ;  that  is  to  say,  from  enjoying  a 
bounteous  collation  at  the  superintendent's. 
The  ice  is  broken :  tongues  are  unloosed  ; 
Klestakofs  performs  wonders. 

First  come  the  exquisite  courtesies  of  the  in- 
troduction, then  the  expatiation  on  the  charms 
of  the  capital ;  and  instantly  there  begins  a 
series  of  inventions  grafted  by  Klestakof  one 
upon  the  other. 

Here  is  the  summing-up  which  loses  the 
devil-possessed  movement,  but  not  the  comic 
value  of  the  scene. 

At  the  ministry,  Klestakof  is  the  intimate  of 
the  dircktor ;  on  the  street,  he  is  recognized  as 
he  is  out  w^alking  ;  the  soldiers  leave  the  guard- 
house, and  present  arms ;  at  the  theatre,  he 
frequents  the  green-room  ;  he  composes  vaude- 
villes; he  is  the  friend  of  Pushkin,  "that  great 
original;"'  he  writes   for   the    magazines;   he 

*  He  says  that  he  addresses  Pushkin  by  the  familiar  pronoun  tut 
(thou). 


74  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

wrote  the  articles  on  the  "  Marriage  of  Fi- 
garo," "Robert  le  Diable,"  ''Norma."  It  is 
he  who  writes  under  the  signature  of  the 
Baron  de  Brambeus.  A  book  is  mentioned  :  "  I 
wrote  it ; "  the  daughter  objects  that  it  bears 
on  the  title-page  the  name  of  luri  Miloslavski ; 
he  replies  to  the  objection  [by  declaring  that 
there  is  another  book  by  the  same  name,  which 
he  wrote].  The  balls  which  he  gives  at  Peters- 
burg are  marvellous  beyond  description ;  he 
collects  around  his  whist-table  the  minister 
of  foreign  affairs,  the  ambassadors  of  France 
and  of  Germany.  From  time  to  time  a  glimpse 
of  the  truth  shines  through  this  tissue  of  im- 
provised boastings,  but  he  leisurely  recalls  the 
phrase  imprudently  uttered.  His  importance 
increases  at  every  new  effort  of  his  imagina- 
tion. Once  he  had  been  offered  the  direction 
of  the  ministry :  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
decline,  but  what  would  the  Emperor  have 
said  .-*  Therefore  he  accepts  the  office,  and 
with  what  hands  !  He  inspires  everybody  with 
awe ;  all  bow  in  the  dust  before  him  ;  the  coun- 
cil of  state  trembles  at  sight  of  him  ;  at  a 
moment's  notice  he  will  be  made  field-marshal. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  75 

The  adventurer  would  not  make  any  end  of 
speaking,  did  not  intoxication  become  a  factor, 
and  cut  short  his  flow  of  words.  The  tchiitov- 
niks,  whose  dismay  has  reached  the  highest 
pitch,  respectfully  assist  him  to  leave  the  din- 
ing-room, to  sleep  off  the  effects  of  his  glory 
and  his  wine  on  a  bed  in  a  neighboring  room. 
"  Charming  young  man  !  "  say  the  mayor's  wife 
and  daughter  in  chorus,  "  Terrible  man  !  "  de-» 
clarcs  the  mayor,  in  an  anxious  and  dubious 
tone,  for  he  has  detected  in  all  this  braggadocio 
some  grains  of  falsehood.  **  But  how  can  one 
speak  of  any  thing  without  a  little  prevarica- 
tion .^  The  certain  thing  is  that  he  makes  fools 
of  the  ministers,  that  he  goes  to  court."  And 
while  the  false  revizor  is  snoring  peacefully, 
taking  his  mid-day  nap,  they  turn  to  his  valet 
Osip  as  a  make-shift.  He  also  unflinchingly 
receives  flatteries,  compliments,  and  fees. 

But  now  follows  the  truly  new  and  powerful 
part  of  this  bold  satire.  How  to  wheedle  the 
ferocious  inspector  t  Js  he  a  man  to  accept 
money  .^  This  attempt  at  corruption  may  lead 
to  Siberia.  The  justice  essays  the  risk  with 
fear  and  trembling.     The  bank-note  which  he 


7^  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

held  in  his  hand  slips  out.  To  his  great  dis- 
may, he  sees  the  revizor  make  a  dash  for  the 
note ;  to  his  great  delight,  he  hears  the  words, 
"You  would  do  me  great  pleasure  by  lending 
me  this."  —  ''Why,  certainly,  only  too  much 
honor."  And  discreetly  he  allows  another  to 
take  his  place. 

The  postmaster  enters  in  great  style,  and  as- 
•sumes  his  most  official  attitude.  Klestakof  cuts 
short  the  formalities  of  the  interview  :  **  Could 
you  not  lend  me  three  hundred  rubles  ?  "  A 
new  and  eager  acquiescence  ;  a  new  and  still 
more  eager  disappearance. 

The  college  principal  appears :  Klestakof, 
now  in  good  humor,  offers  him  a  cigar,  in- 
dulges in  rollicking  conversation,  all  of  which 
completely  dumbfounds  the  poor  man's  brain, 
which  .is  already  full  of  perplexity.  But  a  new 
forced  loan  of  three  hundred  rubles  is  accom- 
plished in  four  words  ;  and  the  principal  takes 
to  his  heels,  crying,  *'  God  have  mercy,  he  has 
not  visited  my  classes  yet ! " 

The  director  of  the  hospitals  has  hoped  to 
whiten  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  other  tchi- 
novniks.     He  has  brought  against  them  a  com- 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  77 

plaint  which  our  adventurer  has  but  to  take 
action  upon.  The  false  revizor  consents  that 
all  the  details  should  be  transcribed  for  him. 
What  the  director  does  not  think  to  proffer  is 
the  sum  of  four  hundred  rubles ;  but  this  is 
finally  demanded  of  him,  and  paid  over  with- 
out a  word. 

It  is  more  difficult  to  extract  a  little  money 
from  the  two  gossips  who  were  the  first  to 
discover,  in  the  traveller  at  the  inn,  the  stuff 
of  which  an  inspector-general  is  made.  This 
devil  of  a  man  nevertheless  has  the  skill  to  ex- 
tort a  little  something  from  them.  They  are 
not  tchinovniks,  to  be  sure,  but  how  gayly  they 
swell  the  ranks  of  the  procession  !  Gogol  jus- 
tifies their  visit  in  showing  them  up  in  the 
capacity  of  petitioners.  The  one  wants  to  legiti- 
mize a  bastard  son  of  his,  "  born,  so  to  speak, 
in  wedlock,"  and  consequently  half  legitimate. 
The  other  would  like  to  have  his  name  men- 
tioned, on  some  suitable  occasion,  before  the 
court  and  the  Emperor :  "  nothing  but  these 
words,  '  in  such  and  such  a  village  lives  such 
and  such  a  person ; '  yes,  nothing  more,  — 
*such  an  one  lives  in  such  a  village.'" 


7^  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

This  train  of  tchinovniks  has  its  counterpart 
full  of  eloquent,  and  even  melancholy,  humor. 
Klestakof  has  just  finished  counting  his  money; 
he  finds  the  part  easy  to  play,  and  full  of  profit. 
But  Osip,  whose  dull  head  contains  more  sense 
than  his  master's  giddy  pate,  advises  him  to 
have  his  post-horses  put  in,  and  to  pack  off 
while  yet  there  is  time.  Klestakof  admits  that 
his  reasoning  is  good  ;  still,  the  farce  is  so  pleas- 
ant that  he  cannot  refrain  from  writing  to  one 
of  his  friends,  a  Petersburg  journalist.  It  is 
easy  to  conjecture  that  this  letter  will  never 
reach  its  destination,  and  that  it  will  serve  to 
bring  about  the  deiioumcnt. 

Suddenly  voices  are  heard  outside  the  house. 
It  is  the  merchants,  the  hatter  at  their  head, 
coming  to  bring  their  complaints  before  the 
revizor.  The  mayor  steals  from  them  shame- 
lessly :  when  they  complain,  he  slams  the  door 
in  your  face,  saying,  "  I  will  not  apply  the 
knout,  for  that's  against  the  law ;  but  I  will 
make  you  eat  humble  pie."  A  woman  comes, 
complaining  that  her  husband  had  been  forcibly 
conscripted  as  a  soldier,  in  place  of  two  others 
who    had   escaped    service   through   the  aid  of 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  79 

bribes.  "  Your  husband  is  a  thief :  he  is  al- 
ready, or  he  will  be,"  —  that  is  the  excuse  of- 
fered her  by  this  "blackguard  of  a  mayor." 

But  it  is  a  real  inspector-general's  business 
to  perform  the  functions  of  his  office.  Kles- 
takof  has  enjoyed  the  profits,  and  thinks  that 
he  can  confine  his  duties  to  that.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  sick  appear  in  their  hospital  dressing- 
gowns,  fever  and  pestilence  in  their  faces  :  the 
false  revizor  rudely  drives  away  all  this  impor- 
tunate throng,  and  shuts  the  door  fast. 

In  happy  contrast  to  the  lugubrious  impres- 
sion of  these  scenes,  the  author  introduces 
some  inventions  of  charming  buffoonery.  The 
mayor's  daughter  enters.  To  beguile  the 
time,  Klestakof  makes  love  to  her,  kisses  her, 
falls  on  his  knees  before  her.  The  mother  ap- 
pears, and  expresses  her  astonishment  —  but  in 
the  fashion  of  Belise,  in  the  "  Femmes  Sa- 
vantes  ;"  such  homage  as  that  is  befitting.  The 
daughter  departs  after  a  sharp  reprimand. 
The  extempore  lover,  now  addressing  the 
mother,  continues  the  wooing  which  he  had 
begun  with  the  daughter,  who  returns  just  as 
he  throws  himself  on  his  knees  for  the  second 


So  NIKOLA'i  GOGOL. 

time.  The  mayor  comes  in  unexpectedly,  and 
almost  chokes  with  surprise  to  hear  an  in- 
spector-general ask  for  his  daughter's  hand. 
How  can  he  deny  himself  such  an  honor?  The 
agreement  is  made  on  the  spot,  and  the  two 
lovers  fall  into  each  other's  arms. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  valet  Osip  comes, 
and,  twitching  his  master  by  the  tail  of  his 
coat,  announces  that  the  horses  are  ready. 
The  adventurer,  recalled  to  reality,  ventures 
a  brief  explanation  :  a  very  wealthy  uncle  to 
visit,  a  day's  journey  distant.  The  post-chaise 
departs;  and  the  act  ends  with  the  postilion's 
command  to  his  horses,  ''  Off  with  you,  on 
wings  ! " 

The  denoument  has  been  unnecessarily  antici- 
pated. It  has  a  gayety,  a  dash,  a  variety  in  its 
detail,  which  make  it  amusing,  fascinating, 
rich  in  surprises.  Nevertheless  it  is  only  the 
identical  denoument  of  our  **  Misanthrope," 
the  all-revealinc:  letter  in  which  each  char- 
actcr  of  the  drama  receives  his  share  of  epi- 
grams. Gogol's  humor  is  given  free  play  in 
this  series  of  rapidly  sketched  portraits,  the 
originals  of  which  are  united  around  the  reader. 


NIKOLA'/  GOGOL.  8 1 

who  is  spared  no  more  than  the  rest.  The 
development  of  the  idea  has  an  inexhaustible 
veTue ;  but  the  idea  itself  belongs  to  Moli^re, 
and  Merimde  long  ago  ascribed  to  him  all 
the  honor  of  it. 

What  belongs  to  Gogol,  what  gives  the  di- 
noihncnt  of  "The  Revizor'  an  original  coloring, 
is  the  mayor's  comic  fury  at  finding  that  he 
has  been  cheated  in  such  a  fine  fashion.  His 
new  title  of  father-in-law  of  an  inspector-gen- 
eral had  already  begun  to  exalt  him,  to  intoxi- 
cate him.  He  has  crushed  the  merchants 
with  it.  He  has  overwhelmed  them  with  the 
lightning  of  his  glance.  He  has  dismissed 
them  with  one  of  those  deep  phrases,  such 
as  paint  the  Russian  tchinovnik  with  his  re- 
doubtable hypocrisy :  "  God  commands  us  to 
forgive :  I  have  no  spite  against  you.  You 
will  only  be  good  enough  to  remember  that  I 
am  giving  my  daughter  in  marriage,  and  not 
to  the  first  noble  that  comes  along.  Endeavor 
to  have  your  congratulations  suitable  to  the 
occasion.  Don't  expect  to  get  off  with  a 
smoked  salmon  or  a  sugar-loaf.  Do  you  hear 
me  t     Go,    and    God    protect   you ! "     The    sly 


82 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 


old  dog  has  already  begun  to  dream  of  a  gen- 
eral's epaulets  :  it  can  be  seen  how  he  is  puffed 
up ;  he  receives  with  the  air  of  a  prince  the 
unctuous  compliments  of  the  other  tchinovniks. 
Suddenly  the  pail  of  milk  falls,  and  the  milk  is 
spilt ;  the  balloon  bursts  !  In  all  that  comes  to 
pass,  there  is  only  sheer  comedy ;  a  skilful 
sharper,  and  duped  rascals.  The  one  who  is 
most  duped  of  all,  the  mayor,  gives  himself 
up  to  a  storm  of  the  most  amusing  frenzy. 
"You  great  fool!"  he  says  to  himself,  pounding 
himself,  "idiot!  you  have  taken  a  dish-clout  for 
a  great  personage  !  And  this  very  moment  he 
is  galloping  off  down  the  road  to  the  sound  of 
the  bells.  He  will  tell  the  story  to  everybody. 
Worse  than  all,  he  will  find  some  penny-a-liner, 
some  scribbler,  to  cover  you  with  ridicule  !  Be- 
hold the  disgrace  of  it !  He  will  not  spare 
your  rank  or  your  office,  and  he  will  find  peo- 
ple to  applaud  him  with  their  voices  and  their 
hands.  You  laugh  ?  Laugh  at  yourselves,  yes. 
[He  stamps  with  passion.]  If  I  only  had  *em  I 
these  scribblers!  Cursed  liberals!  Spawn  of 
the  Devil !  I'd  put  a  bit  on  'em !  I'd  put  a  curb 
on  *em  !     I'd  crush  the  whole  brood  of  'em." 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  83 

And  behold  what  adds  a  still  keener  flavor  to 
this  adventure. 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  mayor,  out 
of  his  wits  at  having  been  capable  of  mistaking 
this  fop  for  an  inspector-general,  is  trying  to 
find  the  one  who  egged  him  on  to  commit  this 
blunder,  a  policeman  enters,  and  says,  **You 
are  requested  to  repair  instantly  to  the  revisory 
who  has  come  on  a  mission  from  Petersburg. 
He  has  just  arrived  at  the  hotel."  The  whole 
company  are,  as  it  were,  thunderstruck ;  and 
the  curtain  falls  on  a  scene  of  silence,  the  ar- 
rangement of  which  Gogol  provided  for  with  the 
minute  accuracy  of  a  realistic  writer,  for  whom 
attitudes  and  facial  expression  are  the  indis- 
pensable complement  of  a  moral  painting.  In 
point  of  fact,  they  are,  especially  at  times  when 
a  lively  emotion  tears  away  all  masks,  the  faith- 
ful and  legible  translation  of  character. 


§4  NIKOLAI  GOGOL, 


VII. 


After  having  laid  bare  the  vices  of  the 
Russian  administration,  in  his  satiric  comedy 
of  ''The  Revizor,''  Gogol  attacked  the  social 
question  in  his  romance  of  the  *'  Dead  Souls." 
He  set  himself  to  work  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  Tsar  Nicolas,  in  a  liberal  humor, 
proclaimed  in  a  iikas  of  prodigious  power  the 
principle  of  the  abolition  of  serfage.  Unhap- 
pily this  liberal  policy  of  the  throne  was  not 
strong  enough  to  hold  its  own  before  the  dis- 
satisfaction of  the  higher  classes  :  the  decree 
was  not  put  into  effect.  But  the  impulse  was 
given,  and  Gogol's  satire  once  more  became 
the  echo  of  the  popular  feeling. 

The  very  title  of  the  romance  was  a  satiric 
touch,  the  significance  of  which  could  not 
escape  a  Russian,  but  which  for  a  French 
reader  needs  rather  a  long  explanation.  At 
the   time    of   serfdom,    a    Russian    proprietor's 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  85 

fortune  was  not  valued  according  to  the  extent 
of  his  lands,  but  according  to  the  number  of 
male  serfs  which  were  held  upon  them.  These 
serfs  were  called  "souls"  {diisJii).  The  owner 
of  a  thousand  souls  was  a  great  proprietor ;  the 
owner  of  a  hundred  souls  was  only  a  beggarly- 
country  squire.  The  proprietor  paid  the  capi- 
tation tax  for  all  the  souls  on  his  domain ;  but, 
as  the  census  was  rarely  taken,  it  happened 
that  he  had  long  to  pay  for  dead  serfs,  until  a 
new  official  revision  struck  them  out  from 
among  the  number  of  the  living.  It  is  easy 
to  see  what  these  dead  souls  must  have  cost  a 
proprietor  whose  lands  had  been  visited  by 
famine,  cholera,  or  any  other  scourge ;  and  his 
interest  in  getting  rid  of  them  will  be  ex- 
plicable. 

What  seems  more  surprising  is,  that  there 
were  people  ready  to  purchase  them.  But  here, 
again,  it  is  sufficient  to  lessen  the  strangeness 
of  the  fact,  if  we  accompany  it  with  a  simple 
explanation.  There  was  in  Russia,  at  the  time 
to  which  Gogol's  novel  transports  us,  a  sort  of 
bank,  established  and  supported  by  the  State, 
and  directed  by  the  managing  boards  of  certain 


86  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

institutions  for  orphan  boys  and  girls,  deaf- 
mutes,  and  others.  This  bank  borrowed  money 
at  four  per  cent,  and  loaned  on  deposits.  Here 
a  man  could  pawn  his  personal  property,  or 
mortgage  his  real  estate  and  his  peasants  up  to 
ten  thousand  souls,  say  at  two  hundred  rubles  a 
head ;  in  other  words,  up  to  two  million  rubles. 
Here  is  a  reason  why  the  hero  of  Gogol's 
romance,  Tchitchikof,  a  former  customs  officer, 
dismissed  for  embezzlement,  purchases  dead 
souls.  He  hopes  some  day  to  possess  a  suffi- 
cient number  to  populate  an  out-of-the-way 
estate  in  a  distant  province  of  the  empire,  and 
to  pawn  this  domain  to  the  State  for  a  sum 
large  enough  to  permit  him  to  go  and  live  in 
grand  style  abroad. 

As  can  be  seen,  the  motive  of  the  book  has 
lost  its  point  since  the  abolition  of  serfage,  and 
this  motive  never  was  very  interesting  except 
for  Russian  readers.  But  this  motive  serves 
Gogol  only  as  a  piquant  pretext  for  a  series  of 
studies  of  provincial  life  in  Russia.  These 
studies  have  an  originality,  a  variety,  and  some- 
times a  force,  so  great  that  it  is  to  be  feared 
lest  our  analysis  can  give  only  a  very  feeble 
notion  of  it. 


NTKOLAI  GOGOL.  «/ 

The  hero  of  "  Dead  Souls "  is  a  veritable 
hero  of  a  realistic  romance ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
has  nothing  which  justifies  the  title  of  hero. 
He  is  neither  handsome  nor  ugly,  neither  fat 
nor  lean,  neither  stiff  nor  pliant ;  he  cannot  any 
longer  be  taken  for  a  young  man.  He  is  mare 
prudent  than  courageous,  more  ambitious  than 
honorable,  more  obsequidfis  than  dignified,  more 
scrupulous  of  his  bearing  than  of  his  conduct ; 
at  once  capable  of  trickery,  and  guilty  of  heed- 
lessness ;  without  talent,  but  not  without  ex- 
pedients ;  with  no  foundation  of  goodness,  but 
not  without  some  small  change  of  benevolence ; 
without  conscience,  but  not  lacking  a  certain 
varnish  of  decency  and  gravity.  This  charac- 
terless '  personage  is  brought  out  in  a  sort  of 
relief  by  the  very  frame  in  which  the  author 
has  ingeniously  placed  him.  Tchitchikof 
travels  across  the  province ;  and  Gogol  docs 
not  separate  him  from  what  is  his  indispensable 
accompaniment  in  his  outlandish  Odyssey,  —  I 
mean  from  his  coach,  his  horses,  and  his  ser- 
vants. 

Petrushka,    his    lackey,   is     a    blockhead    of 

»  Efface. 


88  NIKOLAI  GOG 01^ 

thirty  summers,  with  a  big  nose,  thick  lips, 
coarse  features,  and  with  a  skin  exhaling  an 
odor  sid  generis  which  clings  to  every  thing  that 
comes  in  his  vicinity.  He  speaks  rarely,  and 
reads  as  much  as  possible  ;  but  little  difference 
makes  it  to  him,  what  the  nature  of  the  book 
may  be.  He  does  not  bother  his  head  with  the 
subject.  "What  pleased  him  was  not  what  he 
read  :  it  was  the  mere  act  of  reading.  It  did 
not  trouble  him  to  see  that  he  was  eternally 
coming  upon  words  the  meaning  of  which  the 
deuce  alone  knows." 

The  coachman,  Selifan,  is  a  little  man,  as 
talkative  as  Pctrushka  is  silent.  He  fills  the 
long  hours  of  the  journey  across  the  deserted 
steppe  or  the  monotonous  cultivated  fields, 
with  monologues  laughable  in  their  variety. 
For  the  most  part,  he  addresses  his  incoherent 
discourse  to  his  horses.  With  his  reproaches, 
sometimes  accompanied  by  a  blow  of  the  whip 
under  the  belly  or  across  the  ears,  he  stirs  up 
"  Spot,"  a  huge  trickster,  harnessed  on  the 
right  for  draught,  who  makes  believe  pull  so 
that  one  would  think  that  he  was  doing  him- 
self great  injury,  but  in  reality  he  is  not  pull- 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  89 

ing  at  all.  The  bay,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  very 
"  respectable "  horse  :  he  does  his  work  con- 
scientiously ;  as  does  also  the  light  sorrel,  sur- 
named  the  Assessor  because  he  was  bought 
of  a  justice.  The  coachman,  Sclifan,  who 
understands  the  spirit  of  his  animals,  finds  no 
subject  too  lofty  for  their  comprehension.  He 
quotes  their  master's  example,  who  is  a  man 
to  be  respected  because  he  has  been  in  gov- 
ernment service,  because  he  is  a  college  coun- 
cillor ;  ^  and  when  once  he  enters  into  these 
abstract  and  subtile  considerations  about  duty, 
he  goes  so  far,  he  soars  so  high,  that  he  regu- 
larly gets  lost  in  the  confusing  network  of 
Russian  roads,  and  sometimes  he  fmishes  his 
discussion  in  the  bottom  of  a  slough. 

As  to  the  carriage,  it  also  has  its  strange 
physiognomy,  and,  so  to  speak,  its  national 
stamp.  It  is  the  britchka,  with  leather  flaps 
fortified  with  two  round  bull's-eyes  ;  the  britch- 
ka, whose  postilion,  not  booted  in  the  German 
fashion,  but  simply  with  his  huge  beard  and 
his    mittens,   seated    on    no    one    knows    what, 

^  Kollezhsky  sovyelnik,  tlie  ninth  rank  in  the  civil  tchirif  giving 
personal  nobility. 


f 


90  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

whistles,  brandishes  his  whip,  shouts  his  song, 
and  makes  his  team  fly  over  the  trembling 
earth. 

In  this  equipage  Tchitchikof  reaches  the  vil- 
lage of  N .     He  introduces  himself  to  the 

mayor,  to  the  vice-mayor,  to  the  fiscal  attorney, 
to  the  natchabiik  of  the  court,  to  the  chief 
of  police,  to  the  vodka-id.TXi\Q.x,  to  the  general 
director  of  the  crown  works.  His  politeness, 
his  flattering  words  skilfully  accommodated  to 
each  of  these  gentlemen,  his  air  of  concern  in 
presence  of  the  ladies,  immediately  give  him  the 
reputation  of  being  a  man  of  the  best  tone.  He 
is  overwhelmed  with  invitations ;  he  makes  his 

first  appearance  in  the    fine    society  of  N 

on  the  occasion  of  a  party  given  by  the  mayor. 
The  throng  of  functionaries  is  divided  into  two 
classes,  —  the  "  slenders  "  (Jliieis),  who  hover  like 
butterflies  around  the  ladies,  jargon  gayly  in 
French,  and  in  three  years  succeed  in  mort- 
"  gaging  all  their  paternal  property  to  the  Lorn- 
hard;  and  secondly  the  "solids"  {gros),  who 
tJiesaiLrize  without  making  any  stir,  buy  estates 
in  the  name  of  their  wives,  and  some  fine  day 
go  into  retirement,   so  as  to  go  and  live  like 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  91 

village  proprietors,  like  true  Russian  bavins^ 
until  their  heirs,  who  are  generally  the  "slen- 
ders," come  to  take  possession  of  the  inherit- 
ance, and  make  a  single  mouthful  of  it. 

In  this  somewhat  monotonous  throng,  Tchi- 
tchikof's  attention  is  attracted  by  two  country 
gentlemen,  —  Manilof,  a  Russian  Philinte,  ex- 
tremely fair-spoken,  assiduous,  and  sensitive ; 
and'tSabakevitch,  a  colossus  of  brusque  man- 
ners, of  laconic  speech.  Both  of  them  invite 
the  new-comer  to  honor  with  his  presence  their 
dwellings,  which  are  only  a  few  versts  distant. 
Here  the  novelist's  plan  becomes  apparent. 
He  is  going  to  take  his  hero  and  his  readers 
from  visit  to  visit,  through  all  the  households 
of  these  provincial  proprietors,  whose  foibles 
he  intends  to  make  sport  of,  and  whose  vices 
he  intends  to  scourge.  And  what  the  travel- 
ler's business  will  bring  under  our  observation 
in  his  peregrinations,  will  be  the  condition  of 
the  serfs  under  different  masters,  —  a  preca- 
rious and  ill-regulated  condition  under  the  best, 
lamentable  under  those  who  are  bad.  Thus 
the  importance  of  the  literary  value  in  the 
romance  of  the  "  Dead  Souls,"  whatever  it  may 


92  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

be,  fades  before  the  political  and  social  aim 
of  the  conception.  Or,  rather,  here  may  be 
seen  the  new  and  durable  character  which 
Gogol  impressed  upon  the  national  romance. 
He  applied  that  form  in  which  fancy  reigns 
to  the  real  description  of  Russian  life  :  that  is  to 
say,  he  devoted  it  to  the  portraying  of  those 
abuses  of  every  sort  in  which  the  Russian  is 
still,  to  a  certain  degree,  swaddled ;  to  the  ex- 
pression of  the  sufferings  under  which  the 
thinking  class,  more  oppressed  to-day  than  the 
serfs  of  yore,  feel  themselves  more  and  more 
crushed ;  finally,  to  the  translation  of  all  those 
obscure  but  insistent  desires,  those  vague  but 
ardent  aspirations,  which  are  summed  up  in  the 
old  Muscovite  cry  "  Forward  !  "  repeated  to-day 
in  a  whisper,  from  one  end  of  the  country  to 
the  other,  like  a  watchword. 

The  first  household  which  Go2:ol  brinrsfs  us 
to  visit,  in  company  with  the  purchaser  of  dead 
souls,  is  that  of  the  Manilof  family.  At  the 
very  approach  to  the  village  of  Manilovka,  you 
begin  to  feel  an  impression  of  vulgarity,  of 
vapidness,  and  of  ennui.  The  country  is  poor, 
but  it  does  not  exclude  pretentiousness  :  in  the 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  93 

bottom  is  a  greenish  pond,  like  a  billiard-clotli, 
and  on  tlie  higher  part  of  the  rising  ground 
a  few  atrophied  birches.  Under  two  of  these 
decrepit  and  consumptiv^e  trees  stands  an 
arbor  with  flat  roof,  with  green  painted  lattice- 
work, the  entrance  of  which  is  made  by  two 
little  pillars  with  a  pediment,  on  which  can  be 
read  the  inscription  :  "  Temple  de  la  meditation 
solitaire'^ 

The  frame  is  entirely  appropriate  to  the 
characters.  -Manilof  is  a  pale  blonde,  with  eyes 
blue  as  faience.  *'  His  ever-smiling  face,  his 
ever-sugared  words,  make  you  say  at  first, 
*  What  a  good  and  amiable  man  ! '  The  next 
minute  you  will  not  say  any  thing ;  and  the 
third  you  ask  yourself,  'What  the  deuce  is  this 
man,  anyway.^*"  Above  all,  he  is  a  man  weary 
of  life.  He  has  not  a  passion,  or  a  hobby,  or 
a  fault.  He  has  nothing  decisive  in  his  char- 
acter. At  one  time  he  was  in  the  service ;  and 
;he  left  in  the  army  the  reputation  of  being 
a  very  gentle  officer,  but  a  "spendthrift  of 
Levant  tobacco."  After  returning:  to  his 
estate,  he  allowed  the  management  of  it  to 
go    as    chance    would    have    it.      "  When    one 


94  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

of  his  peasants  came  to  find  him,  and  said, 
scratching  the  nape  of  his  neck,  ^  Bar  in,  let 
me  go  and  find  some  work  so  as  to  earn  enough 
to  pay  my  obrok  (quit-rent)  ; '  —  '  All  right,  go 
ahead  ! '  he  replied,  drawing  a  full  whiff  from 
his  pipe;  and  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
think  that  this  man  wanted  to  get  out  of  his 
sight  so  as  to  have  a  better  chance  to  indulge 
in  his  habits  of  drunkenness."  Manilof  him- 
self is  continually  plunged  in  a  sort  of  somno- 
lent revery  which  is  like  intoxication  of  the 
mind.  His  thoughts  do  not  emerge  from  the 
embryonic  state,  but  they  come  back  with 
the  persistence  of  the  fixed  idea  in  the  brain 
of  a  man  who  has  no  ideas.  His  bureau  always 
has  the  same  book  open  at  the  same  place. 
The  parlor  of  his  house  was  hung  round  with 
silk  and  luxuriously  furnished  many  years  ago. 
It  has  always  lacked  two  arm-chairs,  **  which 
aren't  done  yet ; "  and  this  has  been  so  since 
the  first  days  of  his  marriage.  A  bronze  can- 
delabrum, which  is  an  object  of  art,  has  as  a 
pendant  a  wretched  copper  candlestick,  out  of 
shape,  humpbacked,  soiled  with  tallow. 

This  disorder  disturbs  no  one  in  the  house. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  95 

Manilof  and  his  wife  are  enchanted  with  every- 
thing,—  with  themselves,  with  their   children, 

with  their  neighbors,  with  the  city  of  N . 

Every  tchinovnik  is  the  "most  distinguished, 
the  most  lovable,  the  most  honorable  of  men." 
People  so  prone  to  admiration  and  to  praise 
melt  into  gush  at  the  visit  of  their  guest.  He, 
in  his  turn,  praises  Manilofs  merits  to  the 
skies,  goes  into  ecstasies  over  the  precocious 
intelligence  of  their  two  sons  Alcides  and 
Themistocles ;  and  when  he  has  charmed  them 
all  by  his  delicate  attentions,  he  takes  Manilof 
aside,  and  asks  if  he  has  lost  many  peasants 
since  the  last  census.  The  proprietor,  in  great 
perplexity  as  to  what  answer  to  give,  summons 
his  prikashchik,  formerly  a  peasant,  who  has 
cut  his  beard  and  thrown  his  kaftan  to  the 
winds,  a  great  friend  of  the  feather-bed  and 
fine  down  foot-warmers,  godfather  or  relative 
of  all  the  big-wigs  of  the  village,  a  tyrant  over 
the  poor  devils  whom  he  loads  down  with  fees 
and  tasks.  The  chubby  old  fellow,  who  gets 
up  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  who* 
gets  up  simply  to  put  his  red-copper  samovar 
on  the  table,  and  then  to  tipple  his  tea  like  a 


0  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

gourmand  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  has  no  greater 
knowledge  than  his  master  about  the  insignifi- 
cant question  of  the  mortality  of  the  serfs. 
"The  number  of  the  dead  ?  That's  something 
we  don't  take  note  of.  How's  that  .^ — the 
number  of  the  dead .-'  No  one  has  had  the  idea 
of  counting  them.,  naturally." 

Tchitchikof  asks  to  have  an  exact  list  made 
out,  with  the  names,  surnames,  nicknames, 
dates  of  birth,  color  of  eyes,  tints  of  hair. 
When  the  prikashcJiik  has  gone,  Tchitchikof 
comes  to  the  delicate  explanation.  At  first 
Manilof  takes  his  guest  to  be  crazy  ;  but  his 
face  has  nothing  about  it  that  is  not  re-assuring. 
He  still  hesitates,  in  the  fear  of  some  illegality. 
The  purchaser  dispels  this  fear.  The  bill  of 
sale  will  not  say  any  thing  about  dead  souls. 
"  Dead  t  Never  !  We  will  have  them  entered 
as  living ;  they  are  so  inscribed  on  the  official 
registers.  No  one  shall  ever  induce  me  to 
break  the  law.  I  respect  it.  I  have  suffered 
enough  from  my  uprightness  during  my  career 
as  a  tchiiiovnik.  Duty  first,  the  law  above  all 
things.  That's  the  kind  of  man  I  am,  and  I 
shall  die  the  same.    When  the  law  speaks,  there 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  97 

must  be  no  objections  !  "  Manilof  is  therefore 
re-assured ;  and  when  he  is  convinced  that  the 
crown  has  only  to  gain  by  this  exchange  of 
property,  even  though  it  be  fictitious,  he  offers 
all  his  dead  souls  for  nothing.  He  would  like 
to  have  many  other  occasions  to  show  his  new 
friend  "all  the  drawing  of  his  heart,  all  the 
magnetism  of  his  soul."  The  friend  takes  his 
departure,  promising  the  precocious  children 
some  toys ;  and  "  when  the  cloud  of  dust  raised 
by  the  britchka  had  drifted  away,  Manilof  came 
into  the  house  again,  sat  down,  and  abandoned 
himself  to  the  sweet  thought  that  he  had  shown 
his  crony  a  perfect  amiability,  such  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  his  eminently  benevo- 
lent and  complaisant  soul." 

Not  all  his  negotiations  come  to  this  suc- 
cessful issue  with  such  ease.  In  driving  over 
to  the  house  of  the  laconic  giant  SabakeVitch, 
the  equipage  gets  off  the  track,  and  the  car- 
riage is  overturned  directly  in  front  of  a  coun- 
try-house where  an  old  Russian  lady,  Mrs. 
Karabotchka,  lives.  As  in  the  case  of  Mani- 
lof, the  appearance  of  the  landscape  in  some 
degree  gives  the  clew  to  the  character  of   the 


9^  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

native.  The  landscape  is  little  else  than  a 
nest  for  poultry.  Fowls  of  every  sort  fill  the 
court-yard,  behind  which  stretch  vegetable-gar- 
dens, variegated  here  and  there  with  fruit-trees 
protected  by  great  webs  of  thread.  Amid  this 
vulgarly  utilitarian  nature,  rises  a  pole  which 
ends  in  a  bar  shaped  like  a  cross;  and  on 
the  arm  of  this  cross  is  nailed  a  nightdress, 
surmounted  by  a  damaged  bonnet  belong- 
ing to  "  the  lady  and  mistress  of  all  this 
property." 

Tchitchikof  does  not  waste  so  much  polite- 
ness upon  Nastasia  Petrovna  (these  are  the 
lady's  given  names)  as  upon  Manilof.  He  is 
Russian ;  that  is  to  say,  he  possesses  in  perfec- 
tion all  those  shades  of  speech  and  all  those 
different  intonations  by  which  it  is  possible  to 
show  the  one  with  whom  you  are  speaking, 
veneration,  respect,  deference,  esteem,  vulgar 
consideration,  disdainful  familiarity,  and,  de- 
scending still  lower,  all  degrees  of  patron- 
age, even  to  the  extreme  limit  of  scorn.  Ac- 
cordingly he  opens  his  project  in  free-and-easy 
style.  But  the  proposition  shocks  the  worthy 
woman.     **What  do  you  want  to  do  with  my 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  99 

dead  ? "  she  asks,  fixing  upon  him  two  great 
eyes  streaked  with  yellow  saffron.  She  sus- 
pects some  shrewd  trick  in  this  business ;  and 
her  obstinacy,  characteristic  of  the  narrow- 
minded  but  calculating  babay  finally  exasperates 
the  purchaser,  who  gets  carried  away,  pounds 
the  floor  with  a  cane-seated  chair  within  his 
reach,  and  to  the  old  woman's  horror  mingles 
the  name  of  the  Devil  in  his  furious  exclama- 
tions. These  violent  actions,  however,  have 
less  effect  than  a  promise  deftly  introduced 
into  the  conversation  :  "  I  wanted  to  buy  of 
you  your  various  farm  products '  because  I  have 
charge  of  various  crown  contracts."  This  men- 
tion of  the  crown  brings  the  old  blockhead  to 
terms.  "  A^«,  yes,  I  consent.  I  am  ready  to  sell 
them  for  fifty  paper  rubles.  Only  look,  my 
father,  at  that  question  of  supplies.  If  it  hap- 
pens you  want  rye-flour  or  buckwheat,  or  grits, 
or  slaughtered  neats,  then  please  don't  forget 
me.'*  One  good  turn  deserves  another.  The 
contract  is  instantly  drawn  up ;  and  Mrs.  Kara- 
botchka,  seeing  her  guest  fetch  forth  from  his 
travelling   outfit   a   supply   of    newly   stamped 

*  Khozyaistveiinuie  I>roduktui. 


lOO  NIKOLA'/  GOGOL. 

paper,  arranges  to  have  him  leave  a  package 
for  five  rubles  in  case  of  necessity.' 

All  this  comedy  would  be  well  worth  trans- 
lating word  for  word.  The  situation  already 
treated  in  the  preceding  canto  is  here  renewed 
with  consummate  art.  The  characters  are  de- 
veloped in  broad  light :  the  contrasts  are  for- 
cibly brought  out ;  the  drawing  is  full  of 
freedom  in  its  requisite  vulgarity ;  the  coloring 
is  full  of  brilliancy  in  its  rather  trivial  bold- 
ness. This  country  scene  is  itself  enclosed 
between  two  capital  bits  of  narration,  opening 
and  ending  the  chapter  or  canto  with  a  sym- 
metry of  the  most  skilful  effect. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  episode  comes  the 
soliloquy  of  Selifan  the  coachman,  with  his 
horses,  already  mentioned ;  the  britchka's  wan- 

^  '■'■^Akhtil  what  nice  stamped  paper  you  have ! '  continued  she, 
gazing  at  him,  at  his  portfolio.  And,  indeed,  there  was  not  much 
stamped  paper  to  be  had  then.  *  If  you  would  only  let  me  have  a 
sheet!  I  need  it  so  much.  It  happens  sometimes  I  want  to  write 
a  petition  to. the  court,  and  I  haven't  any  thing  fit  to  write  on.' 

"Tchitchikof  explained  to  her  that  this  paper  was  not  of  that 
kind  ;  that  it  was  designed  for  drawing  up  contracts  in  regard  to  serfs, 
and  not  for  petitions.  However,  in  order  to  accommodate  her,  he 
let  her  have  a  few  sheets  for  a  ruble"  (not  five  rubles,  as  M.  Dupuy 
translates  it,  mistaking  the  word  meaning /;7<r^  ioxjive).  —  N.  H.  D. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  lOI 

derings  in  a  pouring  rain,  across  roads  torn  up 
by  the  storm ;  finally  the  catastrophe  which 
sends  the  whole  equipage  to  the  bottom  of  a 
ditch  into  the  mud. 

At  the  end  of  the  canto  we  have  the  britch- 
ka's  return  guided  by  a  little  girl  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, a  sort  of  wild  Indian  with  bare  legs 
literally  shod  with  fresh  mire.  Selifan  drives 
his  team  with  a  silent  care  which  makes  a 
pointed  contrast  with  his  loquacious  spirit  the 
day  before.  The  horses,  especially  the  mottled 
one,  miss  his  discourses  ;  for  he  substitutes  for 
them  a  hail-storm  of  treacherous  goads  in  the 
fat,  pulpy,  soft,  delicate,  and  sensitive  portions 
of  their  bodies.  At  last,  when  the  carriage 
has  emerged  from  the  region  of  mud,  and  has 
passed  all  these  roads,  running,  in  every  sense 
of  the  word,  "like  crawfish  at  market  when 
they  are  allowed  to  escape  from  the  bag ; " 
and  when  the  coachman  has  reached  the  high- 
way, and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  public  house, 
"he  reined  in  his  team,  helped  the  little  maiden 
to  dismount,  and,  as  he  helped  her,  he  looked  at 
her  for  the  first  time.  He  muttered  between 
his  teeth,  *What  muddy  legs!  hu!  hu!  hu !  all 


102  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

the  way  from  here  home,  she  will  soil  the  clean 
grass!*  Tchitchikof  gave  the  little  maiden  a 
copper  coin,  about  two  kopeks :  she  turned 
her  back  quick  as  a  flash,  and  off  she  went, 
starting  with  five  or  six  mad  gambols;  she 
was  enchanted  at  the  splendid  gift,  still  more 
enchanted  at  having  been  allowed  to  sit  on  the 
coach-box  of  the  britchka." 

At  the  public  house  Tchitchikof  falls  in  with 
a  character  whom  he  has  already  met  at  the 
crown  solicitor's  at  dinner,  where  his  famil- 
iarity surprises  him,  less,  however,  than  his 
skill  at  cards,  and  the  suspicious  way  in  which 
the  other  players  watch  his  fingers.  He  is  a 
terrible  braggart,  and  he  carries  off  the  traveller 
willy-nilly.  Once  again  the  domain  resembles 
the  owner.  Nozdref  is  a  great  hand  for  going 
to  fairs,  a  mighty  tippler,  a  mighty  gambler, 
a  mighty  liar,  or,  as  they  say  in  Russia  of  these 
impudent  improvisers,  "a  mighty  maker  of  bul- 
lets." He  is  always  ready  to  sell  all  his  pos- 
sessions at  a  bargain.  He  sometimes  wins  at 
play,  and  he  spends  his  gains  in  purchases  of 
every  sort.  The  booths  at  the  fairs  in  a  few 
hours   absorb   all  his  winnings.     Generally  he 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  IO3 

loses ;  and,  with  the  forlorn  hope  of  getting 
back  his  money,  he  casts  into  the  same  hole 
his  watch,  his  horses,  and  both  carriage  and 
coachman.  Some  friend  has  to  carry  him 
home  in  a  simple  short  overcoat  of  Bokharian 
stuff,  despoiled  and  shorn,  but  filled  only 
with  thoughts  of  having  his  revenge  next 
market-day.  This  imbecile's  country-house 
has  nothing  more  remarkable  than  his  ken- 
nels, where  beasts  of  every  race  growl  and 
bark.  As  to  the  mill,  the  clamp  which  tight- 
ens the  mill-stone  is  missing»  The  fields  lie 
fallow.  Nozdref's  work-shop  is  adorned  only 
with  Turkish  guns,  swords,  poniards  ;  add  to 
that,  i^ipes  of  every  clay  and  of  every  size, 
and  an  old  hand-organ.  Here  the  negotia- 
tions about  dead  souls  do  not  run  smoothly. 
Nozdref  treats  his  man  as  though  he  were  a 
liar,  a  sharper :  he  wants  to  compel  him  to 
a  bargain  no  less  preposterous  than  disad- 
vantageous ;  then  he  offers  to  put  up  souls  at 
lansquenet.  Tchitchikof,  in  spite  of  insults, 
accepts  only  a  part  of  the  queens ;  and  the 
game  has  hardly  begun  before  he  refuses  to 
play  in  consequence  of  the  strange  pertinacity 


I04  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

shown  by  his  adversary's  sleeve  in  pushing  for- 
ward the  cards  which  are  not  in  the  game. 
Hence  a  terrible  quarrel.  Nozdref  seizes  the 
suspicious  player  by  the  throat,  and  calls  his 
valets  to  thrash  him.  The  comedy  is  changing 
into  a  tragedy.  The  purchaser  of  souls  is  paler 
than  one  of  his  dead.  At  the  critical  moment 
a  carriage  drives  up,  and  from  it  descends  the 
dens  ex  machijid,  a  police-officer,  who  comes  to 
arrest  Nozdref  for  assault  and  battery  com- 
mitted by  him  and  some  other  gentlemen  on 
the  person  of  a  Mr  Maksimof,  whom  they  had 
beaten  on  leaving  some  orgy. 

The  procession  of  vices  and  absurdities 
sweeps  on.  Next  to  Nozdref,  the  rascally 
brutal  gambler,  appears  Sabakevitch,  the  Rus- 
sian gormandizer,  —  a  colossus  with  enormous 
feet,  with  a  back  as  wide  as  the  rump  of  a 
Viatkan  horse,  with  arms  and  legs  huge  as  the 
granite  posts  which  fence  in  certain  monu- 
ments ;  a  man  capable  of  wrestling  with  a  bear, 
himself  a  bear,  as  his  surname  Mikhai'l,  which 
is  the  nickname  of  the  bear  in  Russia,  suffi- 
ciently indicates.' 

*  See  Merimee's  novel  entitled  Lokis.  —  Author's  note. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  IO5 

After  Sabakevitch  comes  the  miser  Plushkin, 
a  portrait  whose  hideous  relief  outdoes  the 
effect  of  Balzac's  Grandet.  The  village  where 
he  lives  still  preserves  traces  of  former  wealth, 
renderino:  more  noticeable  and  more  fri;rhtful 
the  state  of  degradation  and  wretchedness  into 
which  the  present  proprietor  has  let  it  fall. 
The  appearance  of  the  miser  on  his  threshold, 
his  sullen  reception  of  the  traveller,  the  charac- 
teristics of  his  dress  and  his  person,  the  enu- 
meration of  the  treasures  which  fill  his  sheds, 
the  utensils  crowding  his  office,  the  bric-a-brac 
loading  his  what-not,  the  description  of  his 
stingy  ways,  the  contrast  with  his  wise  and 
happy  past,  the  account  of  his  domestic  trou- 
bles, and  of  his  rapid  transformation  under  the 
influence  of  anxiety  and  loneliness, — all  this 
makes  this  canto  not  only  a  picturesque  paint- 
ing, a  most  lively  comedy,  but,  more  than  all,  a 
psychological  study  as  deep  as  it  is  novel.  In 
fact,  avarice  may  have  been  as  well  described  in 
its  effects ;  it  had  never  before  been  so  studied 
in  its  principles,  and,  as  it  were,  determined  in 
its  essence. 

Plushkin   has  sold  Tchitchikof  all  his  dead 


I06  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

souls,  and  all  his  runaway  serfs  into  the  bar- 
gain. The  list  of  the  different  purchases  al- 
ready concluded  reaches  a  respectable  length. 
The  names,  surnames,  nicknames,  description, 
and  other  particulars,  complaisantly  noted  down 
by  those  who  sell,  give  Tchitchikof  the  illusion 
of  having  actual  property.  His  imagination 
brings  all  these  dead  to  life.  He  knows  their 
ways,  their  faults,  their  habits,  the  distinctive 
characteristics  of  each.  The  only  thing  that  is 
left  is  to  have  all  the  purchases  sanctioned  by 
the  tribunals.  Now  or  never  is  the  chance  to 
show  up  in  satire  the  Russian  tchinovnik  and  his 
incurable  corruption.  The  cunning  tricks  of 
the  clerks,  whose  slightest  service  must  be 
bought,  the  natcJialnik' s  collusion,  the  character 
of  the  witnesses,  the  method  of  blinding  the 
chief  of  police  as  to  the  nature  of  the  contract, 
■ —  here  would  be  the  material  for  another 
comedy  in  the  style  of  "The  Revizorr 

Every  thing  comes  out  just  as  Tchitchikof 
desires.  In  the  village,  he  marches  from  ova- 
tion to  ovation  :  he  seems  at  the  height  of  his 
good  fortune.  But,  unhappily  for  him,  Nozdref 
meets  him  at  the  mayor's  ball,  and  publicly  and 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  lO/ 

in  a  loud  voice  makes  sport  of  him  on  account 
of  his  craze  for  purchasing  dead  souls.  This 
mysterious  word  has  its  effect.  Tchitchikof  is 
shunned  as  a  dangerous  man.  The  tattle  of  a 
whole  idle  village  ravins  on  his  reputation.  Jus- 
tice is  stirred  up :  it  imputes  to  him  all  sorts 
of  misdemeanors  and  even  crimes.  '  True,  these 
imputations  almost  instantly  are  shown  to  be 
false ;  but  public  opinion  does  not  make 
charges  against  an  innocent  man  for  nothing. 
Suspicion  always  hovers  about  him.  Every 
townsman  goes  a  little  farther  than  what  has 
been  already  supposed.  One  day  the  postmas- 
ter comes  declaring  that  Tchitchikof  is  Capt. 
Kop^Ykin.  This  Kopeikin  is  a  robber  chieftain, 
known  by  his  wooden  leg  and  his  amputated 
arm.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Tchitchikof 
possesses  all  his  limbs. 

Finally  Nozdref,  who  has  done  all  the  harm, 
makes  partial  reparation.  He  tells  Tchitchikof 
what  is  thought  and  said  about  him  in  the  city 

of  N .     The  man  of  ''acquisitions"  has  his 

britchka  cleaned  and  greased,  straps  his  valise, 
and  gives  Selifan  his  orders  for  their  departure. 
Selifan  scratches  the  nape  of  his  neck  at  this 


I08  NIKOLAI   GOGOL. 

order  to  depart.  What  did  this  expressive  pan- 
tomime mean  ?  Did  he  regret  the  wine-room, 
and  his  friends  the  tipplers,  he  with  the  /////// 
thrown  negligently  over  his  shoulders  ?  Was 
he  deep  in  some  love-affair,  and  did  he  mourn 
thQ  porte-cocMrCy  under  the  shelter  of  which  he 
squeezed  two  whitish  hands  at  the  hour  when 
the  bandura-player,  in  red  camisole,  claws  his 
instrument  ?  Did  he  merely  turn  a  melancholy 
glance  towards  the  kitchen  with  its  savory  per- 
fume of  sauer-kraut,  and  look  with  dismay  on 
the  weariness  of  the  cold,  the  wind,  the  snow, 
and  the  interminable  roads,  following  this  life 
of  contemplation  ?  "  His  gesture  might  signify 
all  that,  and  many  other  things ;  for  among  the 
Russians  the  action  of  scratching  the  nape  of 
the  neck  is  not  the  indication  of  two  or  three 
ideas,  limited  in  number,  but  rather  of  an  infi- 
nite quantity  of  thoughts/* 

They  depart.  A  new  Odyssey  begins  ;  that  is 
to  say,  a  new  series  of  visits,  and  a  new  gallery 
of  portraits.  This  time  the  author  seems  to 
have  desired  to  soften  his  satire,  and  to  add  to 
the  critical  portion  of  his  work  certain  theories, 
or,  at  least,  certain  counsels.     Taking  as   his 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  IO9 

text  Andrei  Tentyotnikof,  —  a  sweet-tempered 
and  easy-rgoing  gentleman,  who  is  slowly  con- 
suming away  in  the  vague  torment  of  a  senti- 
mental life,  —  he  propounds  his  ideas  on  edu- 
cation, and  lays  out  his  programme  of  studies 
in  the  fashion  of  Rabelais,  his  favorite  author. 
In  contrast  to  Andrei  he  places  the  charming 
figure  of  Julienne,  daughter  of  the  old  general 
Betrishef.  Those  who  blame  Gogol  for  never 
having  created  an  elegant  and  graceful  heroine 
have  not  read  the  thirteenth  canto  of  "  Dead 
Souls."  Never  to  be  forirotten  when  once  met 
is  the  dazzling  amazon,  whose  portraiture  thus 
begins :  '*  The  person  so  suddenly  introduced 
was  bathed  and  caressed  by  the  light  of  heaven  ; 
she  was  as  straight  and  as  agile  as  a  rosewood 
javelin."  Andrei  is  in  love  with  her.  But  this 
romance  is  scarcely  begun  before  it  is  hidden 
from  us,  and  in  its  place  comes  satire  again. 
We  fall  back  into  vulgar  life,  and  into  the 
most  beastly  epicureanism,  with  the  gastrono- 
mist Peetukof.  This  jovial  fat-paunch  has  a 
splenetic  neighbor.  With  good  health,  and 
eighty  thousand  rubles  income,  the  handsome, 
gentle,  and  good  Platonof  is  bored.    He  has  only 


no  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

this  word  on  his  tongue :  eiimii.  His  brother- 
in-law  Konstantin  is  apparently  the  only  one  of 
these  Russian  grandees  whom  Gogol  has  been 
pleased  to  spare.  Industrious  as  an  ox,  he  de- 
mands of  his  serfs  constant  labor.  "  I  have 
discovered,"  he  says,  *'that  when  a  man  does 
not  work,  dreams  come  along,  his  brains  run 
away,  and  he  becomes  a  mere  idiot."  This 
proprietor  has,  moreover,  no  claims  to  noble 
descent.  ''  He  took  very  little  thought  about 
his  genealogical  tree,  judging  *that  the  posses- 
sion of  proofs  was  not  worth  the  labor  of 
research,  and  that  such  documents  have  no  ap- 
plication to  agriculture."  Finally,  he  contented 
himself  with  speaking  Russian  without  going 
round  Robin  Hood's  barn,  and,  without  any  ad- 
mixture of  French,  in  thorough  Russian  style. 

This  wise  man  has  made  his  property  a  model 
domain,  and  he  would  like  to  see  the  country 
peopled  with  good  proprietors  like  himself.  He 
lends  Tchitchikof  money  to  purchase  an  estate 
in  the  neighborhood.  But  we  may  conjecture 
that  the  adventurer  will  not  settle  down  so 
soon.  In  fact,  we  are  yet  to  see  other  ab- 
surd specimens ;  for  example,  the  fool  Koshka- 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  1 1 1 

ref,  who,  though  within  two  steps  of  ruin,  plays 
with  governmental  forms.  He  has  transformed 
his  domain  into  a  little  state  divided  into  bu- 
reaus, with  such  inscriptions  as  these  :  **  Depot 
of  Farm  Utensils  ; "  ''  Central  Bureau  for  the 
Settlement  of  Accounts ; "  "  Bureau  of  Rural 
Matters;"  ''School  of  High  Normal  Instruc- 
tion ;"  etc.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that,  through 
the  fault  of  the  employees,  the  bureaus  do  not 
work ;  for  the  Bureau  of  Edifices  has  taken  his 
last  ruble,  and  the  poor  sovereign's  ruin  is 
rapidly  drawing   nigh. 

Finally,  the  spectacle  on  which  the  narrator 
longest  holds  our  attention  is  that  of  the  pov- 
erty whereto  the  various  faults  or  vices,  touched 
by  our  finger  in  this  tale,  bring  the  great  ma- 
jority of  the  small  proprietors  of  Russia.  Klo- 
beyef  has  been  ruined  this  ten  years.  He  still 
lives,  and  his  existence  is  a  problem.  To-day 
is  a  gala  day,  grand  dinner,  play  by  French 
actors  :  the  next,  not  a  morsel  of  bread  in  the 
larder.  Any  one  would  have  hung  himself, 
drowned  himself,  or  put  a  bullet  through  his 
head.  Klobeycf  finds  the  means  of  keeping  up 
this    alternation    of   luxury  and    wretchedness. 


112  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

He  is  a  well-bred,  enlightened,  intelligent  man : 
he  absolutely  lacks  common-sense.  When  he 
is  in  trouble,  he  opens  some  pious  book ;  and 
when  the  compassion  of  his  old  friends,  or  the 
charity  of  some  strange  lady  on  the  lookout  for 
good  works,  succeeds  in  rescuing  him,  for  the 
time  being,  from  the  final  tragedy,  he  ascribes 
praise  to  Providence,  thanks  the  holy  images, 
and  begins  to  bite  off  from  both  ends  this  for- 
tune come  from  Heaven. 

With  this  portrait  we  must  end  the  analysis 
of  ''Dead  Souls."  The  impression,  as  can  be 
seen,  is  truly  heart-rending.  According  to  the 
author's  own  statement,  "  it  is  a  picture  of  the 
universal  platitude  of  the  country."  The  story 
is  told,  that  the  scoffer  Pushkin,  after  hearing 
his  friend  Gogol  read  this  romance,  said  to  him, 
in  a  voice  broken  by  emotion,  "  Good  God  !  the 
sad  thing  is  our  poor  Russia."  It  is  indeed  this. 
state  of  moral  wretchedness  which  Gogol  strove 
above  all  to  make  the  Russian  reader  teel,  even 
though  he  had  to  do  so  at  the  cost  of  his  own 


pcpuTarfty. 

I  shall  pass  briefly  over  the  last  part  of  the 
romance,  which  is  only  an  arrangement  drawn 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  1 1 3 

from  the  author's  notes.  The  adventurer  is 
seen  for  the  second  time  in  the  clutches  of  the 
law.  He  has  forged  a  will,  like  Crispin  in  "  Le 
Legataire  ; "  and  he  is  only  released  from  prison 
by  the  intercession  of  an  old  philanthropist, 
who  finally  succeeds  in  softening  the  governor- 
general's  severity.  Tchitchikof  has  agreed  to 
become  an  honest  man,  or  at  least  to  marry, 
and  to  found  a  line  of  honest  folk. 

It  has  been  thought  that  in  this  violent  but 
straightforward  governor,  "animated  by  healthy 
hatreds  "  as  Alceste  says,  Gogol  meant  to  pic- 
ture the  Tsar  Nicholas.  Gogol  belongied,  in- 
deed, to  an  epoch  when  Russia  as  yet  expected 
her  salvation  and  delivery  from  above.  How- 
ever, the  tsar  is  not  mentioned  here  more  than 
elsewhere  in  "  Dead  Souls  ; "  and  the  author, 
whose  patriotism  shines  forth  in  so  many  places 
in  the  book,  does  not  seem  to  have  cared,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  to  personify  the 
country  in  the  emperor.  I  might  adduce,  in 
proof,  all  the  passages'  where,  by  way  of  com- 
pensation, words  about  Russian  soil,  Russian 
horsemanship,  Russian  idiom,  etc.,  bring  out, 
through  the  ironical  and  trivial  prose   of   the 


1 14  NIKOLAI  GOGOL. 

satire,  the  poet's  passionate  lyric  utterances 
which  were  revealed  to  us  in  his  first  writings. 
Here  is  a  fragment  which  deserves  to  be  en- 
shrined in  an  anthology  along  with  the  piece 
about  the  Dniepr  or  the  "  Ukraine  night : "  — 
"  Russia  !  Russia  !  from  the  beautiful  distant 
places  where  I  dwell  '  I  see  thee,  I  see  thee 
plainly,  O  my  country !  Thy  nature  is  nig- 
gardly. In  thee  there  is  nothing  to  charm  or 
to  awe  the  spectator.  ...  No  :  there  is  nothing 
splendid  in  thee,  Russia,  nothing  marvellous  ;  all 
is  open,  desert,  flat.  Thy  little  cities  are  scarce 
visible  in  thy  plains,  like  points,  like  specks. 
Nothing  in  thee  is  seductive,  nothing  even  de- 
lights the  eye.  What  secret  mysterious  force, 
then,  draws  me  to  thee  1  Why  does  thy  song, 
melancholy,  fascinating,  restless,  resounding 
throughout  all  thy  length  and  breadth,  from  one 
sea  to  the  other,  ring  forever  in  my  ears }  What 
does  this  song  contain  ?  Whence  come  these 
accents  and  these  sobs  which  find  their  echo  in 
the    heart  }      What    are    these    dolorous    tones 

'  Gogol  was  living  at  that  time  in  Italy.  He  wrote  while  abroad 
tlie  second  part  of  Dead  Souls.  He  left  Russia  after  the  publication 
of  the  first  part.  —  Author's  Note. 


NIKOLAI  GOGOL.  1 1  5 

which  strike  deep  into  the  soul,  and  wake  the 
memories  ?  Russia,  what  desirest  thou  of  me  ? 
What  is  this  obscure,  mysterious  bond  which 
unites  us  to  each  other?  "Why  dost  thou  look 
at  me  thus  ?  Why  does  all  that  thou  con- 
tainest  fix  upon  me  this  expectant  gaze  ?  My 
thought  remains  mute  before  thy  immensity. 
This  very  infinity,  to  what  forebodings  does  it 
give  rise  ?  Since  thou  art  limitless,  canst  thou 
not  be  the  mother  country  of  thoughts  whose 
grandeur  is  immeasurable  ?  Canst  thou  not 
bring  forth  giants,  thou  who  art  the  country  of 
mighty  spaces?  This  thought  of  thy  immeas- 
urable extent  is  reflected  powerfully  in  my  soul, 
and  an  unknown  force  makes  its  way  into  the 
depths  of  my  mind.  My  eyes  are  kindled  with 
a  supernatural  vision.  What  dazzling  distances ! 
What  a  marvellous  mirage  unknown  to  earth  ! 
O  Russia ! " 


J 


IVAN  S.  TURGENIEF. 


IVAN    TURGfiNIEF. 


Ivan  Turgenief  was  born  at  Orel  on  the 
28th  of  October,  18 18.  This  date,  given  by 
Turgenief  himself  in  a  letter  to  the  Russian 
journalist  Suvarin,  corresponds  to  the  9th  of 
November  in  our  calendar. 

His  father,  Sergei  Nikolayevitch,  and  his 
mother,  Varvara  Petrovna,  died  early/  He 
was  brought  up  by  his  grandmother,  a  Russian 
lady  of  the  old  school,  haughty  by  nature 
and  of  despotic  disposition.  The  portrait  of 
this  "severe  and  choleric"  baruina  i3  found 
sketched  in  vigorous  outlines  in  the  little  story 
"  Punin  and  Baburin."  This  story,  says  Tur- 
genief in  the  letter  which  I  have  just  men- 
tioned, "contains  much  biography." 

Turgenief's  grandmother  lived  in  the  coun- 
try, on  an  estate  a  short  distance  from  the  city 

*  This  is  a  mistake.  His  father  died  in  1835  5  ^'^^  ^^  mother 
reached  the  age  of  seventy,  dying  in  1S50. 

117 


Il8  IVA.V  TURCE.VIEF. 

of  Orel.  Here  the  child  became  passionately 
fond  of  nature.  From  the  age  of  twelve  he 
entered  into  intimate  relationship  with  trees 
and  flowers;  and  he  felt,  when  in  contact  with 
them,  impressions  whose  viv'idness  remains 
after  more  than  forty  years  in  the  deeply 
stirred  remembrances  of  the  mature  man. 

"The  garden  belonging  to  my  grandmother's 
property  was  a  large  park  of  ancient  date.  On 
one  side  it  sloped  towards  a  pond  of  running 
water,  wherein  lived  not  only  gudgeon  and 
tench,  but  also  salvclines^  the  famous  salvelincs, 
those  little  eels  which  are  found  scarcely  any- 
where nowadays.  At  the  head  of  this  pond 
grew  a  dense  rose-bed ;  higher  up,  on  both 
sides  of  the  ravine,  stretched  a  thicket  of 
vigorous  bushes,  —  hazel,  elder,  honeysuckle, 
black-thorn,  in  the  lower  part  encroached  upon 
by  tall  grass  and  lovage.  Amid  the  clumps  of 
trees,  but  only  here  and  there,  appeared  very 
small  bits  of  emerald-green  lawn  of  fine  and 
silken  grass,  prettily  mottled  with  the  dainty 
pink,  yellow,  lilac  caps  of  those  mushrooms 
called  russ7ilcs ;  and  there  the  golden  balls  of 
the  great  celandine  hung  in  luminous  patches. 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  119 

There  in  springtime  were  heard  the  songs  of 
nightingales,  the  whistling  of  blackbirds,  and 
the  cuckoos'  call.  It  was  always  cool  there, 
even  during  the  warmest  days  of  summer; 
and  I  loved  to  bury  myself  in  those  depths 
where  I  had  my  favorite  hiding-places,  myste- 
rious, known  to  myself  alone  —  or  at  least  so 
I  imagined." 

Prepared  by  this  beneficent  influence  of 
colors,  perfumes,  and  the  sounds  of  rustic  life, 
the  child's  moral  education  was  directed,  with- 
out anybody's  knowledge,  and  influenced  for  all 
time,  by  the  presence  of  two  outlandish  servants, 
flitting  members  of  the  high-born  lady's  house- 
hold. One  of  them  was  a  ''philanthropic  and 
philosophical  plebeian,"  destined  to  die  in  Sibe- 
ria ;  the  other,  a  sort  of  innocent  enthusiast,  a 
great  reader  of  Russian  epics  then  out  of  fashion. 
The  former  sowed  in  the  young  Turg6nief's 
soul  the  seeds  of  a  liberalism  which  will  bear 
fruit  in  the  most  manly  resolves ;  the  latter 
kindled  in  the  lad's  lively  imagination  a  poetic 
flame  whose  heat  and  glory  will  shine  out  in  a 
score  of  masterpieces. 

Towards  the  age  of  thirteen,  the  young  Ivan 


120  IVAN   TURG£NIEF. 

was  removed  from  these  influences.  He  was 
given  two  tutors,  one  French  and  the  other 
German.  Having  obtained  his  diploma  as  can- 
didate in  philology,  he  went  to  Berlin  to  finish, 
or  rather  begin  anew,  his  studies  in  the  hu- 
manities ;  and  he  brought  them  to  a  close  by 
plunging  into  the  current  of  the  Hegelian  phi- 
losophy. He  came  back  to  Russia  converted 
to  that  "occidentalism"  which  we  shall  define 
later  when  we  study  Turgenief's  political  theo- 
ries. 

He  made  his  dcbiU  as  a  writer  in  1843,  with 
a  little  poem,  "Parasha."  '  The  critic  Bielinsky 
gave  it  such  praise  that  it  covered  the  author 
with  confusion.  Towards  the  end  of  his  life, 
Turgenief  criticised  his  poetry  with  a  severity 
that    was    absolutely    sincere.      Even    at    this 

'^  Turgenief  says  in  his  Recollections :  "  About  Easter,  1843,  '" 
Petersburg,  an  event  took  place,  in  itself  indeed  of  small  importance, 
and  long  ere  this  swallowed  up  in  perfect  oblivion.  It  was  this :  A 
short  poem  entitled  Parasha,  by  a  certain  T.  L.,  was  published.  That 
T.  L.  was  I.  With  this  poem  I  began  my  literary  career."  He  says 
further  that  Bielinsky's  praise  was  so  extravagant  that  he  felt  more 
confusion  than  pleasure.  "  I  could  not  believe  it,"  he  adds ;  "  and 
when  in  Moscow  the  late  I.  V.  Kireyevski  came  to  me  with  congratu- 
lations, I  hastened  to  disown  my  child,  declaring  that  I  was  not  the 
author."  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  •  121 

period,  he  set  as  little  value  on  his  verses  as 
though  he  had  already  shown  his  ability  in  a 
prose  masterpiece.  The  masterpiece  appeared 
three  years  later,  in  1846.  The  first  story  in 
*'  The  Annals  of  a  Sportsman,"  ^  "  Khor  and 
Kalinuitch,"  was  published  in  the  Sovrejnennik 
("Contemporary");  and  at  a  single  stroke  Tur- 
g^niefs  fame  reached  a  height  which  will  never 
be  surpassed  by  any  of  his  great  works.* 

[Most  of]  the  other  stories  in  Turgeniefs 
first  collection  were  written  abroad.  The  au- 
thor came  back  to  Russia  in  185 1,  but  only 
to  leave  it  again  two  years  later.  He  will 
still  have  a  domicile  there,  and  above  all  he 
will  come  back  regularly  to  keep  up  his  rela- 
tions, and  touch  foot  to  earth  ;  but  it  may  be 
said  that  after  1863  he  made  only  flying  visits 
to  his  country.  The  Russians  have  heaped 
reproaches  on  Turgenief  for  this  abandonment 
of  his  native  soil.  It  has  always  been  easily  ex- 
plained. There  was,  at  least  primarily,  a  sort 
of  state  reason.     In   1852,  owing  to  an  article 

*  Zapiski  Okhotnika. 

*  Yet  Bielinsky  wrote  him :  "  *  Khor '  gives  promise  that  you  will 
be  a  remarkable  writer  —  in  the  future."  —  N.  H.  D. 


122  IVAN  TURGENIEF. 

on  Gogol's  death,  Turgenief  got  into  difficulty 
with  the  imperial  censorship,  which  ended  in 
a  month  of  close  imprisonment,  and  in  the 
writer  being  interned  at  his  estate.  After  two 
years  of  solitude  and  work,  Turgenief  felt  the 
need  of  *' gaining  freedom,  the  knowledge  of 
himself."  He  acquired  these  conditions,  outside 
of  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  write  and 
to  struggle,  at  the  price  of  life  in  a  foreign 
country."  ' 

But  behold  what  was  not  known,  and  what 
was  revealed  only  by  the  posthumous  publica- 
tion of  Turgenief's  letters.  This  Russian  who 
made  his  home  abroad,  who  dwelt  twenty  years 
in  France,  and  died  in  the  very  heart  of  Paris, 

*  Turgenief  says  in  his  Recollections :  "  I  should  certainly  never 
have  written  The  Annals  of  a  Sportsman  if  I  had  staid  in  Russia.  I 
was  in  a  state  of  mind  singularly  analogous  to  Gogol's,  who  just  about 
this  time  wrote  his  best  pages  about  Russia  from  '  the  beautiful  dis- 
tance.' "  The  article  on  Gogol's  death  was  not  passed  by  the  Peters- 
burg censor,  but  was  admitted  by  the  Moscow  censor,  and  appeared  in 
the  Vyedomosti  in  March,  1852.  Nevertheless,  the  article  was  con- 
strued as  a  violation  of  the  law  :  "  I  was  put  under  partial  arrest  for 
a  month,  and  then  sent  into  domicile  in  the  country,  where  I  lived  two 
years.  .  .  .  But  all  for  the  best.  .  .  .  My  being  under  arrest,  and  in 
the  country,  proved  to  my  undeniable  advantage :  it  brought  me  close 
to  those  sides  of  Russian  life  which,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
would  probably  have  escaped  my  observation."  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  turg£nief.  123 

was  overwhelmed  during  his  forced  or  voluntary 
exile  with  the  blackest  melancholy  of  homesick- 
ness, and  during  the  last  part  of  his  life  suffered 
even  the  sharpest  torment. 

He  did  not  succeed  in  acclimating  himself, 
either  at  Baden  Baden,  in  spite  of  the  charm 
of  the  situation  where  his  poet's  glance  first 
rested ;  or  at  Paris,  where  he  was  to  be  en- 
chained by  the  bonds  of  love  which  he  himself 
called  "imperishable,  indissoluble."  It  may  be 
asked,  in  regard  to  this  well-known  friendship, 
whether  Turgenief,  exiled  from  Russia  by  his 
desire  for  liberty,  succeeded  in  avoiding  all  the 
forms  of  dependence.  It  is  a  problem  which  I 
leave  to  the  most  inquisitive  to  settle.  I  con- 
fine myself  to  pointing  out  in  Turgenief  the 
expressions  which  now  and  again  betray  his 
weariness  of  exile,  his  restlessness  as  of  a  North- 
ern bird,  a  captive  swan  or  eider,  languishing, 
mourning  with  regret  for  its  cold  natal  seas. 
"  I  am  condemned  to  a  Bohemian  life,  and  I 
must  make  up  my  mind  never  to  build  me  a 
nest."  "  In  a  foreign  atmosphere,"  he  writes 
once  more,  "  I  decompose  like  a  frozen  fish  in 
time  of  thaw.  ...  I  shall  certainly  come  back 
to  Russia  in  the  spring." 


124  IVAN  TURGJ^NIEF. 

During  the  winter  of  1856  Turgenief  made 
this  promise  to  return ;  and  he  repeats  it  many 
times,  as  though  to  assure  himself  further  ex- 
cuses for  keeping  it.  From  that  time  he  knows 
all  the  disappointments  of  a  wandering  life  ;  and 
to  express  the  idea  of  not  feeling  at  home  where 
one  is,  he  uses  a  word  of  rare  power  :  "  Say 
what  you  will,  but  in  a  foreign  country  a  man 
is  dislocated:  you  are  needful  to  no  one,  and 
no  one  is  needful  to  you."  Far  from  growing 
feeble,  this  painful  impression  will  increase  as 
time  goes  on  ;  the  flame  of  regret,  instead  of 
going  out  or  dying  down,  will  get  fresh  vigor, 
and  break  forth  in  new  developments. 

First  it  is  the  family  instinct,  which  wakens 
and  which  speaks  very  eloquently  at  that  am- 
biguous hour  when  youth  begins  to  withdraw, 
and  when,  like  the  foliage  in  autumn,  one  feels 
a  premonitory  shiver,  harbinger  of  the  wintry 
winds.  *'Anenkof  married,"  says  Turgenief 
smiling,  "  is  handsomer  than  ever."  "  Get  thee 
a  wife,"  he  writes  seriously  to  another  of  his 
friends :  "  it  is  the  one  thing  needful." 

Then  there  is  also  the  acute  feeling  of  the 
impoverishment  of  th€  creative  faculty,  the  very 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  1 25 

disturbing  realization  or  apprehension  of  a  sort 
of  literary  anema  due  to  the  deprivation  of  the 
desired  climate  with  its  inspiring  horizons,  with 
its  atmosphere  filled  with  vivifying  breezes  and 
suggestive  sounds.  "I  will  admit,  if  you  please, 
that  the  talent  with  which  I  was  endowed  by 
nature  has  not  grown  smaller ;  but  I  Have  noth- 
ing on  which  to  set  it  to  work.  The  voice  is 
rested :  there  is  naught  to  sing,  so  it  is  better 
to  be  silent.  And  I  have  nothing  to  sing, 
because  I  live  away  from  Russia."  **  Living 
abroad,"  he  says  in  another  place,  "  the  fountain 
from  which  my  inspiration  sprang  has  dried 
up." 

Finally,  more  than  all,  it  is  the  lofty  sadness 
and  the  noble  remorse  at  not  being  on  hand,  at 
not  mingling  more  intimately  in  the  troublous, 
dangerous  drama  which  is  enacting  on  Russian 
soil.  "  In  fact,"  Turgenief  writes  his  friend  the 
great  author,  Lyof  Tolstoi",  "  Russia  is  now  pass- 
ing through  serious  and  gloomy  times ;  but 
it  is  for  that  very  reason  that  at  this  moment 
one  feels  the  gnawing  of  conscience  at  living 
like  a  foreigner." 

And  so  this    existence  which   seemed  to  be 


126  IVAN  turg£nief. 

ruled  by  a  certain  indifference,  a  sort  of  elegant 
and  fortunate  dilettanteism,  was  early  crossed, 
and  to  the  very  end  disturbed,  by  fits  of  melan- 
choly and  splenetic  depression,  the  secret  of 
whose  existence  few  people,  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  ever  discovered.  Who  seeing  Turgenief 
unaffectedly  smiling,  in  a  humor  not  exactly 
sportive,  but  sweet,  even,  and  obliging,  would 
have  suspected  that  after  an  interview  with  his 
Parisian  friends,  for  whom  he  saved  all  the 
flower  of  his  wit,  he  would  shut  himself  up 
to  confide  his  heart-secret  to  pages  destined  to 
fall  only  under  the  softened  and  by  no  means 
mocking  eyes  of  his  old  Russian  comrades  ? 

One  can  easily  imagine  the  sympathy  roused 
in  a  Polonsky,  for  example,  by  passages  such  as 
this  :  "  The  chill  of  old  age  every  day  penetrates 
farther  into  my  soul :  it  takes  entire  possession 
of  it.  The  absolute  indifference  which  I  find  in 
me  makes  me  tremble  for  myself.  I  can  now 
repeat  with  Hamlet,  — 

'  How  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seems  me  that  life  ! '  ^ 

^  A  misquotation,  of  course,  of 
"  How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seems  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world!  "  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  12/ 

Perhaps  this  mood  will  pass ;  or,  if  it  lasts,  per- 
haps I  shall  succeed  in  Ugnifying,  and  in  that 
case,  it  is  all  the  same." 

Another  day  he  tears  out  from  his  private 
journal  this  page,  the  disappearance  of  which 
is  to  be  deeply  regretted  :  *'  Again  I  am  at  my 
table,  and  in  my  soul  it  is  gloomier  than  the 
gloomiest  night.  Thus,  like  a  moment,  passes 
the  day,  empty,  aimless,  colorless.  A  space  to 
give  a  passing  glance,  and,  lo !  it  is  bedtime 
again.  No  right  to  life,  no  desire  to  live. 
Nothing  to  do,  nothing  to  expect,  nothing  to 
hope  for.  .  .  .  Thou  speakest  of  halos  of  glory, 
and  of  enchanting  tones.  O  my  friend !  we 
are  the  fragments  of  a  vase  broken  long  ago." 

When  once  the  straits  of  old  age  were 
crossed,  Turg6nief  enjoyed  a  few  years  of  rela- 
tive calm,  of  less  bitter  resignation.  It  was 
the  time  of  his  intimacy  with  George  Sand  and 
Flaubert.  They  both  died.  Illness  falls  upon 
Turg^nief  himself,  and  nails  him  pitilessly  to 
the  land  of  exile. 

From  the  day  when  the  way  of  return  is 
cut  off,  the  *' occidental "  is  seized  once  more 
with  the  agony  of  homesickness  for  the  mother 


128  IVAN  TURG£NIER 

country.  His  eyes  and  his  heart  are  fastened 
immovably  on  the  corner  of  Russia  whither  all 
the  memories  of  childhood  and  youth  draw  him. 
Unable  to  see  his  village  of  Spaskoe,  he  sends 
his  best  friends  to  it,  and  establishes  them  there. 
He  begs  them  to  give  him  endless  details  about 
the  peasants,  about  the  women,  the  school,  the 
chapel,  the  hospital.  He  worries  about  the 
garden,  and  urges  Mrs.  Polonskai'a  to  look  upon 
its  most  humble  products  with  "the  eyes  of 
the  master."  He  feels  more  keenly  than  ever 
the  value  of  what  he  has  lost.  In  addition  to 
his  ever  renewed  and  lively  regrets  comes  the 
feeling  of  bitterness  and  mourning  which  is 
born  of  the  irreparable.  His  country  calls  him, 
and  draws  him  with  such  force,  that  he  has 
the  sensation  of  a  great  *'  tearing  asunder." 
That  is  the  expression  to  which  it  is  necessary 
to  hold  fast.  It  is  calculated  to  surprise  even 
those  who  had  the  good  fortune  often  to  meet 
Ivan  Sergeyevitch ;  but  what  regret  it  ought 
to  cause  those  who,  deceived  by  the  way  in 
which  Turgenief  persisted  in  living  far  away 
from  the  Russian  land,  cruelly  upbraided  him 
for  having  forgotten  his  country  ! 


IVAN  TURGENIEF.  1 29 

Turgenief  was  so  far  from  forgetting  Russia, 
that  he  went  back  almost  every  year  ;  and  he 
wrote  almost  all  his  works  there.  The  critics 
scarcely  had  any  suspicion  of  such  a  thing. 
They  attacked  Turgenief's  later  novels,  bring- 
ing up  against  them  his  residence  abroad. 
"  How  could  he  know  Russia  any  more  ?  He 
no  longer  lives  there."  Turgenief  was  indig- 
nant at  this  objection,  which  **  that  old  woman 
called  the  public  "  persisted  in  hurling  at  him. 
He  answered  this  argument  once  for  all,  in 
terms  which  must  be  quoted:  "The  objection 
can  only  be  made  to  what  I  have  published 
since  1863.  Until  that  time, — that  is,  until  my 
forty-fifth  year,  —  I  lived  in  Russia,  scarcely 
going  out  of  the  country,  except  the  years  from 
1848  to  1850.  During  just  those  years  I  wrote 
'The  Annals  of  a  Sportsman.*  On  the  other 
hand,  '  Rudin,'  '  The  Nest  of  Gentlemen,'  '  On 
the  Eve,'  and  '  Fathers  and  Sons '  were  written 
in  Russia.  But  that  makes  no  difference  to  the 
old  woman.      Her  mind  is  already  made  up." 

To  be  a  little  more  precise,  "  Rudin  "  was 
published  in   1855.      "A  Nest  of  Gentlemen"' 

*  Dvoryhnskaye  GnyezdS,  an  untranslatable  title.  A  Nest  of 
Nobles  or  Courtiers  or  Gentlemen  fairly  expresses  it. 


I30  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

appeared  in  1859  [1858?],  and  the  year  1862 
was  distinguished  by  the  appearance  of  "Fath- 
ers and  Sons."  Better  than  any  one,  Turgenief 
understood  the  necessity  of  writing  nothing 
without  his  models  before  him ;  and  he  went 
to  seek  for  them  where  they  were  to  be  found. 
Turgenief  s  correspondence  shows  these  scru- 
ples in  a  score  of  places,  and  especially  in  regard 
to  "  Fathers  and  Sons."  Having  once  con- 
ceived the  plan  of  the  work,  the  novelist  has 
no  rest  until  he  finds  himself  in  Russia.  There 
only  can  he  imagine,  create,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  reproduce  what  he  sees  in  real  life. 
His  pen,  which  refused  to  move  as  long  as 
he  was  abroad,  runs  and  flies  over  the  paper. 
The  sight  of  familiar  landscapes  refreshes  the 
parched  brain  :  inspiration  flows. 

Between  the  romance  of  "  Fathers  and  Sons," 
and  that  of  "  Smoke,"  which  was  published  in 
1867,  during  the  period  when  the  Russian  writer 
was  an  habitual  resident  of  Baden  Baden,'  ap- 
peared quite  a  large  number  of  shorter  stories 
and  tales    of   less    pretension,  but  not  of   less 

^  "  In  1863  Ivan  Serg6yevitch  bought  a  plat  of  land  at  Baden 
Baden,  built  a  house  on  it,  and  lived  there  until  iS/O."  —  Polevoi. 


IVA.V  TURG^NIEF.  13^ 

value.  There  is  more  than  one  masterpiece 
of  sentiment  or  imagination  in  "  Apparitions," 
in  "  Strange  Stories,"  "  Spring  Waters,"  "  Liv- 
ing Relics."  Not  all  these  collections  preceded 
"  Smoke,"  but  they  came  shortly  before  or 
shortly  after  it. 

Between  "Smoke"  and  "Virgin  Soil,"  Tur- 
genief's  last  great  novel,  passes  a  period  of 
nearly  ten  years.  The  cause  of  this  long 
silence  was  the  alienation  which  had  arisen 
between  the  writer  and  his  public.  Russian 
readers  had  already  begun  to  show  their  dis- 
satisfaction with  "  Fathers  and  Sons,"  and  the 
causes  of  this  displeasure  deserve  to  be  closely 
examined.  We  shall  return  to  them  in  the 
course  of  this  study.  The  spitefulness  of  the 
critics  was  let  loose  against  the  very  satirical 
romance  "Smoke;"  other  works,  such  as  "The 
King  Lear  of  the  Steppe,"  did  not  even  have 
the  success  of  causing  scandal,  and  were 
"damned  with  faint  praise."  "That,"  said 
Turgenief,  "for  an  author  who  is  growing  old, 
is  worse  than  a  fiasco.  It  is  the  best  proof 
that  it  is  time  to  stop,  and  I  am  going  to  stop." 

In   such    a  resolution,  there  were  other  mo- 


132  IVAAT   TURG^mEF. 

tives  besides  pique.  Turgenief  felt  weary, 
and,  as  it  were,  short  of  inspiration  or  of  sub- 
jects. In  the  intervals  between  the  recupera- 
tive journeys  which  we  have  mentioned,  he  was 
obliged  to  nourish  himself  on  his  own  sub- 
stance. He  knew  that  to  suspend  them,  or 
even  to  postpone  them  too  long,  was  at  the 
risk  of  losing  his  strength  and  wasting  away 
even  to  consumption.  "  I  am  compelled,  like 
a  bear  in  winter,  to  suck  my  paw  ;  and  thus  it 
is  that  nothinsf  comes  forth." 

o 

The  weariness  disappeared,  the  pique  wore 
away,  and  gradually  this  firm  resolution  to  enjoy 
rest  and  absolute  silence  was  shaken.  Turge- 
nief finally  even  found  excellent  reason  for  re- 
suming the  pen.  It  was  necessary,  not  to  blot 
out,  but  to  complete,  the  effect  of  "  Fathers  and 
Sons  "  by  writing  another  romance,  which  this 
time  should  clear  up  misunderstandings,  and 
put  the  author  in  the  position  and  in  the  rank 
that  he  felt  he  ought  to  hold.  This  romance, 
"Virgin   Soil,"  »  did  not  appear  till   1876;  but 

*  Nov,  the  Russian  title,  means  merely  new,  —  one  of  the  words, 
by  the  way,  showing  the  affinity  of  Russian  with  Latin,  English,  and 
the  other  Indo-European  languages,  —  and  is  suggestive  not  only  cf 
new  land,   but  of  new  people  and  new  ideas.  —  N.  H.  D. 


ji'A.Y  turg£nief.  133 

almost  two  years  beforehand  Turgenief  was 
talking  of  it,  thinking  about  it,  and  working 
at  it.  It  can  be  seen  in  his  correspondence, 
that  the  work  is  in  some  degree  taking  shape ; 
and  under  each  abstract  formula  one  can 
already  detect  the  outlines  of  a  character  who 
will  be  the  realization  of-  it. 

It  is  easily  understood  how  Turgenief,  who 
expected  so  much  from  this  last  work,  who 
thought  that  he  had  put  into  it  the  best  of 
his  talent,  and  reached  the  culmination  of  his 
creative  faculty,  was  disappointed  and  discour- 
aged to  receive  once  more  only  reproaches  and 
blame.  "  This  time,"  he  says,  "  it  is  my  last 
original  work.  Such  is  my  decision,  and  it  is 
irrevocable.  ...  I  may  possibly  busy  myself 
still  with  translations.  I  am  contemplating 
*  Don  Quixote  *  and  Montaigne."  In  vain  opin- 
ion calms  down,  changes  base,  turns  to  praise 
and  admiration  :  he  remains  firm  in  his  design 
of  staying  in  retreat,  and  of  "joining  the  vet- 
erans." Indeed,  for  a  few  months  at  least,  he 
seems  to  drop  this  implement  of  the  writer, 
"which  he  has  used  for  thirty  years." 

He  travels  abroad,  in  England ;  and  quickly 


134  IVAA^  turg£nief. 

finds  himself  too  well  known,  too  much  en- 
tertained, too  much  exhibited.  This  excess  of 
glory  is  incompatible  with  his  modesty. 

Was  it  the  delight  in  his  visit  to  Russia  in 
the  spring  of  1878,  was  it  the  joy  of  renewing 
long -interrupted  relations  of  intimacy  with 
Count  Lyof  Tolstoi'  ?•  At  all  events,  Turgenief 
again  finds  literary  work  to  his  taste.  At  first, 
it  is  true,  he  is  seen  occupying  himself  only 
with  the  work  of  others.  He  wishes  to  do  for 
Tolstoi'  the  same  service  in  France,  as  for  Flau- 
bert in  Russia,  by  popularizing  their  works  in 
translation.  Or  he  publishes  Pushkin's  corre- 
spondence, and  supervises  a  superb  edition  of 
the  complete  works  of  his  favorite  poet. 

He  writes  Bougival  his  "  Song  of  Triumphant 
Love,"  which  he  regretfully  allows  to  be  printed, 
and  which  is  this  time  hailed  as  a  marvel.  He 
makes  a  selection  of  his  "  Poems  in  Prose." 
He  puts  some  personal  reminiscences  in  the 
form  of  short  stories;  among  others,  "The 
Hopeless  Man."  He  already  passes  beyond 
the  horizon  of  life, — which  is  ending  for  him 
amid  the  most  cruel  sufferings, — by  writing 
that  half-real  vision  entitled  "The  Morrow  of 
Death." 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  135 

Turgenief,  by  these  short  works,  endeavored 
to  get  himself  into  the  mood  of  writing  another 
great  work.  He  was  already  beginning  to 
speak  of  it  to  his  friends ;  he  explained  the 
subject ;  he  had,  perhaps,  blocked  out  his  plan  ; 
and  since  we  know  his  habits  of  work,  and  his 
method,  we  are  safe  in  adding  that  he  had  con- 
ceived the  principal  types,  that  he  had  seen  the 
majority  of  the  characters  pass  and  halt  before 
his  eyes.  In  this  romance,  Turgenief  intended 
to  compare  the  Russian  with  the  French  gr^- 
vistes  or  anarchists.  We  see  it  is  the  subject 
which  Zola  had  the  ambition  to  take  up  in 
"  Germinal ;  "  and,  in  spite  of  the  popularity  of 
the  work,  I  may  be  allowed  to  believe  that  this 
subject  still  remains  to  be  treated. 

The  idea  of  this  great  romance  must  have 
been  suggested  to  Turg^nief's  mind,  as  a  con- 
sequence of  his  almost  triumphal  journey  in 
Russia,  on,  the  occasion  of  the  Pushkin  festi- 
val. A  few  years  had  sufficed  absolutely  to 
change  the  feelings  of  the  younger  generation 
in  Russia.  The  popularity  which  the  author  of 
"The  Annals  of  a  Sportsman  "  so  suddenly  won 
was  restored  to  him  after  a  pretty  long  period 


13^  IVAN-  TURG^NIEF. 

of  alienation,  and  at  last  beatified  the  author 
of  ''Virgin  Soil."  The  enthusiastic  reception  of 
the  Moscow  students  filled  his  soul  with  the 
emotion  of  unexpected  joy,  and  the  ovation 
which  he  received  had  for  him  all  the  value  of 
an  improbable  result.  A  Russian  who  was  very 
near  to  Turgenief  told  me  that,  on  this  occa- 
sion, he  found  only  a  few  hesitating  and  broken 
words  to  reply  to  the  speeches  of  the  orators, 
the  leaders  of  this  young  generation;  but  he 
had  the  moistened  eyes  and  the  smile  of  a  happy 
man. 

Full  of  gratitude  for  this  eleventh-hour  hom- 
age, he  would  have  been  glad  to  express  his 
thankfulness  in  his  own  manner ;  and  doubtless 
the  new  work  would  have  translated  it.  His 
illness  put  a  stop  to  his  project.  On  the 
8th  of  April,  1882,  Turgenief  writes  to  Mrs. 
PolonskaYa  to  inform  her  of  the  physician's  diag- 
nosis in  regard  to  what  they  call  •his  angma 
pectoris,  or  his  gouty  neuralgia  of  the  heart. 
The  term  was  not  accurate.  It  is  known  that 
Turgenief  died  of  cancer  of  the  spinal  marrow. 
Whatever  the  trouble  was,  the  torment  of  it 
became  atrocious,  and  the  suffering  which  the 


IVAN   TURG£NIEF.  137 

invalid  underwent  lasted  more  than  a  year. 
He  bore  this  slow  agony  with  great  sweetness. 
His  complaints  were  rare,  and  they  were  for  the 
most  part  hidden  under  a  veil  of  irony  which 
robbed  them  of  every  shade  of  bitterness. 

Pinched  by  pain  as  by  a  vise,  he  still  found 
the  time  and  the  power  to  address  comforting 
raillery  to  those  who  were  sadder  than  himself. 
*'  For  your  consolation,"  he  wrote  to  one  of  his 
friends,  '*  I  wish  to  quote  one  of  Goethe's  re- 
marks, made  just  before  his  death.  It  would 
seem  as  if  he  at  least  had  to  satiety  all  of  the 
happiness  that  life  can  give.  Think  what  a 
pitch  of  glory  he  reached,  loved  by  women,  and 
hated  by  fools ;  think  that  he  had  been  trans- 
lated even  into  Chinese ;  that  all  Europe  was 
setting  out  in  pilgrimage  to  salute  him  ;  that 
Napoleon  himself  said  of  him,  *  There  is  a 
man  ! '  think  that  our  Russian  critics,  the  Uv- 
arofs  and  others,  burned  incense  under  his 
nose :  and  yet,  at  the  age  of  eighty-two,  he  de- 
clared that  during  his  long  life  he  had  not  been 
happy  a  quarter  of  an  hour  all  told.  Then 
for  you  and  me  it  is  the  will  of  God,  isn't  it } 
Suppose  the  perfect  health  which  Goethe  always 


138  IP^AjV  TURG^NIEF. 

enjoyed  is  lacking  to  us,  still  he  was  bored 
.  .  .  But  what  is  to  be  done  about  it  ? " 
On  the  3d  of  July,  1883,  Turgenief  with  fee- 
ble hand,  and  at  the  cost  of  cruel  pangs,  wrote 
in  pencil  the  following  unsigned  letter  to  his 
friend  the  great  novelist  Lyof  Tolstof :  "  It  is 
long  since  I  have  written  you,  for  I  have  been 
and  I  am  literally  on  my  death-bed.  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  recover :  it  is  not  within 
the  limits  of  thought.  I  write  you  simply  to 
tell  you  that  I  am  .happy  to  have  been  your 
contemporary,  and  to  express  to  you  my  last 
and  most  sincere  request  :  my  friend,  return 
to  literary  work !  This  talent  of  yours  came  to 
you  from  the  source  whence  come  all  our 
gifts.  Ah !  how  happy  I  should  be  if  my 
prayer  were  to  have  the  effect  upon  you  so 
deeply  desired !  As  for  me,  I  am  a  dead  man. 
The  doctors  do  not  even  know  what  name 
to  give  my  ailment.  Gouty  neuralgia  of  the 
stomach ;  no  walking,  no  eating,  no  sleeping. 
Bah !  it  is  tiresome  to  repeat  all  this.  My 
friend,  great  writer  of  the  Russian  land,  hear 
my  supplication.  Let  me  know  if  you  receive 
this  slip  of  paper,  and  allow  me  once  more  to 


IVAN   TURG£NIEF.  139 

press  you  closely  in  my  embrace,  —  you,  your 
wife,  and  all  your  family.  I  cannot  write  you 
more,  I  am  weary." 

Turg^nief  died  a  month  later,  on  Monday, 
Sept.  3,  1883. 

Turgdnief's  features  are  so  well  known  that 
it  seems  unnecessary  to  sketch  them  in  his 
biography.  One  of  his  characters,  the  gigantic 
Karlof,  thus  defined  the  men  of  his  race  :  "  We 
are  all  born  with  light  hair,  brilliant  eyes,  and 
pale  faces ;  for  we  have  sprung  up  under  the 
snow."  Turgenief  himself  had  a  good  share 
of  these  race  characteristics.  But  in  France 
the  majority  of  people  knew  the  good  giant 
only  after  he  was  well  along  in  life,  and  when 
he  already  had  the  aspect  of  one  of  those  ven- 
erable kings  of  whom  the  poet  speaks  :  — 
.  .  .  N'osco  crines  vicanaque  menta. 

Turgenief  was  of  a  very  honest,  very  obli- 
ging, and  very  affable  nature.'     Those  who  met 

*  His  generosity  was  more  than  princely  ;  not  even  the  palpable  im- 
positions of  his  impecunious  countrymen  caused  him  to  clasp  his  ever- 
open  purse.  It  is  related  that  a  Russian  family  residing  in  Paris 
made  frequent  applications  to  this  abundant  fountain.  Turgdnief  saw 
through  their  wiles,  but  let  the  stream  still  flow.  The  little  daughter 
of  the  family  showed  some  musical  talent,  and  Turgdnief  undertook 


I40  IVAN  TURGENIEF. 

him  saw  him  to  the  best  advantage  at  moments 
when  he  allowed  himself  to  talk  with  a  charm- 
ing frankness.  He  talked  deliciously,  with 
abundance  of  feeling  and  a  fluency  of  expres- 
sion, which  went  with  him  even  when  he  spoke 
in  French.  He  enchanted  those  who  listened 
to  him  in  his  moments  of  enthusiasm  :  always 
lively  and  original,  his  conversation  then  be- 
came passionate  and  brilliant,  even  lyrical. 
Listening  to  this  stream  of  ideas  and  words  hur- 
rying in  eager  floods,  not  noisily,  from  the  lips 
of  this  old  man  of  heroic  mould  and  structure, 
one  involuntarily  thought  of  some  Homeric 
bard.  There  was  also  ''the  harmony  of  the 
cicadas"  and  ''all  the  sweetness  of  honey"  in 
the  voice  of  the  Nestor  of  the  steppes. 

her  education.  It  happened  that  there  was  a  very  exchisive  school  in 
Paris ;  and  one  fine  day  the  ambitious  mother  came  and  besought  their 
Maecenas  to  use  his  influence  to  have  the  young  girl  admitted  where 
no  foreigner  was  allowed.  Turg^nief  was  at  last  a  little  nettled,  and 
in  epigrammatic  Russian  he  said,  "  Make  her  either  a  candle  for  the 
Lord,  or  an  ash-scraper  for  the  Devil "  {Bogu  svyetchu  Hi  Tchortu 
katchergu).  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  I4I 


II. 

Was  Turgenief  only  an  artist,  only  a  dilet- 
tante ? 

We  must  give  up  this  false  definition  which 
his  enemies  wished  to  become  current,  and 
which  his  friends  even  have  been  too  willing 
to  let  go  with  contravention.  Superficial  critics 
deny  in  him  all  capacity,  all  enlightenment,  on 
the  questions  of  social  order  :  they  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  say  that  in  these  respects  he  has 
neither  teachings  nor  opinion.  Certain  fanatics, 
young  or  old,  the  Pisarefs,  the  Dostoyevskys, 
have  taken  it  upon  them  to  advance  this  pre- 
text for  denying  him  the  right  to  write  and  to 
print  his  works,  and  to  be  read  as  they  are  and 
more  than  they  are. 

It  is  true  to  say  that  Turgenief  never  laid 
down,  or  even  sketched  out,  a  programme ;  that 
he  never  made  public  speeches,  that  he  did  not 
peddle  interviews,  that  he  did  not  lucubrate 
leading  articles  for  the  editorial  pages  of  jour- 


142  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

nals.  What  am  I  saying  ?  Perhaps  he  did  not 
even  reply  to  a  sensational  toast  during  his 
active  life !  Many  persons  obtain  and  grant  the 
title  of  political  man  only  by  this  test.  In 
their  judgment,  Turgenief  was  not  one. 

As  for  believing  that  Turgenief  had  in  politi- 
cal matters  no  definite  opinions,  or  keen  sym- 
pathies, or  profound  views,  or  well-digested 
purposes,  it  takes  a  pretty  strong  dose  of 
passion  or  of  naivete  to  accept  and  to  pro- 
mulgate this  mistake.  Those  who  have  read 
his  works  carefully  suspected  it ;  those  who 
were  in  his  intimate  circle  had  no  question 
about  it :  but  no  scepticism  in  this  regard  could 
withstand  the  revelations  of  his  correspondence. 

We  know  what  popularity  the  Slavophile 
party  gained  from  the  moment  of  its  birth. 
The  declamations  of  the  Pogodins  and  the 
Aksakofs  against  ''occidental  rot,"  their  dithy- 
rambs in  honor  of  the  virtues  of  the  Slavic 
race,  their  childish  programmes  pretending  to 
put  the  Russian  people  on  the  right  track,  and 
to  free  it  from  the  old  vestment  of  foreign  ideas 
and  habits  which  Peter  the  Great  had  swaddled 
it  with, — all  this  specious  rhetoric,  flattering 


IVAN-  TURGJ^NIEF.  143 

at  once  the  national  vanity,  ignorance,  and 
indolence,  found  in  Turg^nief  from  his  early 
youth  a  decided  enemy.  His  conviction  as  an 
occidental,  which  was  the  foundation  of  all  his 
other  convictions,  could  not  be  shaken  either 
by  the  constant  effort  of  years  or  by  the  sudden 
shock  of  the  most  varied  events. 

But  what  was  the  characteristic  of  this  occi- 
dentalism ?  Did  it  go  so  far  as  to  dislike  the 
special  features  of  the  Russian  people,  and 
desire  to  extirpate  the  individuality  of  the  race, 
as  one  would  demand  the  excision  of  a  tumor 
or  the  extirpation  of  a  wart  t  Turgenief  was 
too  proud  of  being  a  Russian,  not  to  have  a 
legitimate  share  in  the  development  of  these 
peculiarities  of  the  national  type  ;  but,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  words,  it  was  repugnant  to  him 
"to  feel  any  vanity  in  this  sort  of  exclusiveness, 
in  whatever  sphere  it  was  manifested,  pure  art 
or  politics."  In  his  eyes.  Slavophilism  was  an 
artificial  entity,  a  sort  of  hollow  edifice,  con- 
structed on  foreign  models  and  in  imitation  of 
the  German  genius. 

He  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea 
of  artificially  isolating  Russia  from  the  rest  of 


144  IVAN  TURGENIEF. 

Europe,  and  of  shutting  her  up  in  a  sort  of  quar- 
antine, where,  in  order  to  be  free  from  foreign 
influences,  the  result  would  be  that  the  natal 
air  would  not  preserve  its  purity,  but  would 
grow  vitiated  and  rarefied.  And  with  still 
greater  reason,  he  regarded  as  puerile  the 
thought  of  giving  new  life  to  the  European 
organism  by  the  infusion  of  the  Slavic  element. 
This  ambition  of  grafting  the  Russian  shoot  on 
the  aged  wood  of  other  races  tore  from  him  pro- 
testations of  very  expressive  irony.  "  I  cannot 
accustom  myself  to  this  view  of  Aksakof's,  that 
it  is  necessary  for  Europe,  if  she  would  be 
saved,  to  accept  our  orthodox  religion."  Every 
policy  that  adopted  this  narrow  principle  seemed 
to  him  worthy  of  reprobation,  at  least  in  its 
principle.  "In  freeing  the  Bulgarians  we  ought 
to  be  guided  to  this  step,  not  because  they  are 
Christians,  but  because  the  Turks  are  massa- 
cring and  robbing  them."  "All  that  is  human 
is  dear  to  me,"  he  says  again  :  "  Slavophilism 
is  as  foreign  to  me  as  every  other  orthodoxy." 

In  bringing  these  habits  of  moderation  to 
his  judgments  of  the  acts  of  the  government, 
and   of    the   men   who    helped,    who    extolled, 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  145 

who  blamed,  who  clogged  its  action,  Turgdnief 
might  have  expected  to  cause  dissatisfaction, 
and  to  rouse  for  the  most  part  only  murmurs. 
Early  in  point  of  fact,  and  even  to  the  end  of 
his  career,  Turgdnief  is  the  object  of  violent 
attacks  from  the  opposite  party.  At  the  very 
moment  when  the  younger  generation  of  Rus- 
sians felt  that  they  were  travestied  by  him  in 
"Fathers  and  Sons,"  and  when  Tchernuishev- 
sky,  the  author  of  the  famous  romance  ''What 
is  to  be  Done } "  '  turns  to  his  own  profit  the 
misunderstandings  caused  by  the  appearance 
of  the  hero  Bazarof;  Turgenief,  for  having 
created  this  same  Bazarof,  for  having  refused 
to  exaggerate  or  blacken  his  character,  makes 
for  himself  irreconcilable  enemies  in  the  re- 
actionary party.  He  quarrels  with  Katkof,  the 
officious  journalist,  the  confidant  of  the  heir- 
apparent,  the  inspirer  of  that  retrograde  policy 
which  has  prevailed  in  Russia  of  late  years. 
"When  I  left  *The  Russian  Messenger'  {Russki 
Vy^tnik)^  Katkof  sent  me  word  that  I  did  not 
know  what  it  was  to  have  him  for  an  enemy, 

*   Tchto  Dyelatf  a.  translation  of  which  is  published   by  T.  Y. 
Crowell  &  Co.,  under  the  title  A  Vital  Question. 


14^  IVAN  turg£nief. 

He  is  trying,  therefore,  to  show  me.  Let 
him  do  his  best.  My  soul  is  not  in  his 
power." 

No  consideration  of  interest,  no  low  ambition 
for  popularity,  could  have  decided  Turgenief  to 
deviate  from  this  line  of  conduct.  We  remem- 
ber the  quite  barren  movement  of  agitation 
started  a  few  years  ago  by  those  young  people 
who  called  themselves,  somewhat  na'fvely,  "  the 
new  men."  A  lady  who  was  one  of  their  sym- 
pathizers sends  Turgenief  a  bundle  of  docu- 
ments :  it  is  the  confession  of  one  of  the 
representatives  of  this  progressive  generation. 
Turgenief  finds  in  this  jumble  of  prose  and 
verse  only  two  characteristics,  —  an  intoxicated, 
delirious  self-conceit,  and  boundless  incapacity 
and  ignorance.  It  is  vain  to  make  allowance 
for  time  of  life,  and  to  attribute  a  part  of  their 
faults  to  the  extreme  youth  of  these  individuals 
puffed  up  with  a  mighty  sense  of  their  small 
importance.  Under  it  all  there  lies  "  only  fee- 
bleness of  thought,  absence  of  all  knowledge, 
a  scantiness  of  talent  verging  on  poverty." 
He  does  not  put  his  unfavorable  judgment 
under    any    sort    of    subterfuge    or    oratorical 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  147 

disguise :  his  frankness  costs  him  a  storm  of 
bitter  criticisms. 

Yet  Turg^nief  is  the  very  same  man  who  will 
receive  in  Paris  other  young  people,  with  still 
more  trenchant  opinions,  still  more  angular 
forms ;  and  "  in  their  presence,"  he  says  elo- 
quently, "  I,  old  man  that  I  am,  I  open  my 
heart,  because  I  feel  in  them  the  'real  presence,* 
and  force,  and  talent,  and  mind."  These  virtues 
attracted  him  and  disarmed  him,  no  matter  in 
what  class  of  people  or  in  what  group  of  think- 
ers he  found  them.  Thus  he  is  seen  giving 
the  patronage  of  his  name,  and  the  cover  of  his 
authority,  to  the  first  work  on  the  newspaper 
Le  Te7np5  of  a  young  Russian,  treated  by  the 
home  government  as  a  dangerous  character. 
To  punish  Turgdnief  for  this  audacious  deed, 
the  minister  causes  him  to  be  insulted,  slan- 
dered by  a  paid  scribbler.  "Verily,  among  us," 
writes  Turgenief,  "many  shameful  things  are 
exposed  to  God's  air,  like  this  vile  article  of 
the  rascally  .  .  .  ." 

Now,  a  few  days  later,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
attempted  assassination  of  1879,  behold  how 
the  man  whom  "  The  Moscow  Gazette  "  (edited 


14^  IVAN  TURGJENIEF. 

by  Katkof)  affected  to  confound  with  the  scat- 
ter-brains of  Nihilism,  expressed  himself:  "The 
last  ignominious  news  has  greatly  troubled  me. 
I  foresee  that  certain  people  will  use  this  sense- 
less outrage  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  party 
which  justly,  in  the  interest  of  its  liberal  ideas, 
places  the  Tsar's  life  above  every  thing  ;  for  salu- 
tary reforms  are  to  be  expected  from  him  alone. 
In  Russia,  how  can  a  reform  be  imagined 
which  does  not  come  from  above  .^  .  .  .  I  am 
deeply  troubled  and  grieved.  Here  for  two 
days  I  have  not  slept  at  the  idea  of  it.  I  think 
about  it,  and  think  about  it;  but  I  cannot 
come  to  any  conclusion." 

Whatever  were  his  apprehensions,  he  could 
not  foresee  with  what  fury  of  re-action  the  Em- 
peror would  strive  to  stem  the  Liberal  current, 
by  which,  when  he  first  mounted  the  throne,  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  onward.  Tur- 
genief  suffered  from  this  aberration  of  power 
more  than  can  be  told.  He  foresaw  new  acts 
of  despair,  which  would  give  a  color  of  reason 
to  measures  of  repression  constantly  growing 
more  crushing.  He  attributed  this  infatuated 
policy  to  the  influence  of  Pobyedonostsef,  the 


IVAN  rURGJ^NIEF.  149 

Ober-Prokiiror  of  the  Holy  Synod ;  and  above 
all  to  the  counsels  of  Katkof,  that  former  Lib- 
eral, that  exile  converted  to  the  most  brutal 
absolutism.  He  writes :  "  Who  can  tell  what 
is  going  on  at  home,  Katkovio  regnante  ?  " 

With  what  passion  Turgenief  uttered  one  day 
before  two  callers,  one  of  whom  was  a  French- 
man, this  expression,  which  I  find  also  in  his 
correspondence  !  With  what  pathetic  eloquence 
he  mourned  for  the  days  of  yore,  the  days  of 
the  old  oppression  !  "  We  had  then  a  bare  wall 
before  us,"  he  writes,  "but  we  knew  where  it 
was  necessary  to  make  the  breach.  To-day  the 
door  is  ajar,  but  to  enter  through  this  narrow 
opening  is  more  difficult  than  to  undermine 
and  cast  down  the  wall." 

I  find,  among  some  notes  taken  down  after 
an  afternoon  call  upon  Ivan  Turgenief  during 
the  winter  of  1882,  a  rather  expressive  rhum^ 
of  his  conversation,  which  I  beg  permission  to 
quote  in  its  entirety.  "At  that  time  we  felt 
sustained  by  an  auxiliary  which  allows  one  to 
defy,  and  which  finally  softens,  all  the  severities 
of  power,  —  Opinion.  We  had  on  our  side  the 
two  stimuli  which  lead  to  victory,  —  the  feeling 


ISO  IVAN  TURGJ^NIEF. 

of  duty,  the  presentiment  of  success.  Who 
would  have  believed  that  the  day  would  come 
when  we  should  look  back  with  regret  upon 
this  period  of  terror,  but  of  hope ;  of  oppres- 
sion, but  of  activity !  Indeed,  were  not  the 
youth  of  that  time  happy  and  enviable  compared 
to  those  of  to-day  ?  What  sincere  mind  can 
help  feeling  the  deepest  pity  for  that  handful 
of  Russians,  educated,  or  greedy  for  education, 
whom  the  misfortune  of  the  times  has  driven 
to  the  most  frightful  extremes  ?  You  might 
say  that  every  thinker  is  caught  between  the 
anvil  of  an  ignorant  populace  and  the  hammer 
of  a  blinded  power.  The  Russian  people  are 
afraid  even  of  those  who,  scorning  every  dan- 
ger, are  laboring  to  gain  them  their  rights  ; 
they  are  absolutely  ignorant,  and  are  afraid  of 
every  innovation.  They  have  the  anxious  look, 
and  the  quick  flashes  of  anger,  of  a  wild  beast. 
We  have  just  seen  them  rush  upon  the  Jews 
with  a  sort  of  frenzy.  If  the  people  were  not 
kept  like  a  bear  fastened  to  a  chain,  they  would 
treat  the  revolutionists  with  the  same  fairness 
and  the  same  gentleness. 

"As  to  the  throne,  the  end  of  advance  in  the 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  I5I 

path  of  absolutism  has  just  about  been  reached. 
It  is  now  the  formidable  ideal  of  tyranny.  Dur- 
ing the  preceding  reign  it  took  the  initiative  of 
reform.  Alexander  II.  was  carried  away  by  the 
current  of  liberal  ideas.  He  ordered  measures 
to  be  taken  ;  above  all,  he  allowed  projects  to 
be  elaborated.  He  wished,  for  example,  to  give 
the  district  assemblies  power  enough  to  strug- 
gle against  the  abuses  of  the  ichinovniks,  and 
to  put  a  stop  to  corruption.  But  one  day 
he  was  panic-struck.  Karakozof's  pistol-shot 
drove  back  into  the  shade  that  phantom  of 
liberty,  the  appearance  of  which  all  Russia  had 
hailed  with  acclamation.  From  that  moment, 
and  even  to  the  end  of  his  life,  the  Emperor 
devoted  himself  to  the  undoing  of  all  that  he 
had  done.  If  he  could  have  cancelled  with 
one  stroke  the  glorious  ukaz  which  had  pro- 
claimed the  emancipation  of  the  serfs,  he  would 
have  been  only  too  glad  to  disgrace  himself. 

"What  can  be  said  of  his  successor,  that 
doting  sovereign,  that  victim  nailed  to  the 
throne  .'*  He  shuts  himself  between  four  walls, 
and,  what  is  worse,  between  four  narrow,  lim- 
ited minds,  the  responsible  editors  of  the  policy 


152  IVAN  TURG£NIEF. 

of  an  anonymous  tsar,  the  former  Liberal  and 
exile,  Katkof.  It  is  a  war  upon  ideas,  a  crusade 
of  ignorance.  Russia  is  having  its  Inquisition, 
it  has  its  Torquemada.  What  other  name  is 
to  be  given  to  that  minister  of  creeds,  or,  to 
speak  more  exactly,  that  procuror-general  of 
the  Synod,  Pobyedonostsef  ? 

"  The  Tsar  sees  in  Pobyedonostsef  the  most 
virtuous  and  the  most  saintly  man  in  all  the 
empire.  He  has  for  him  all  the  tenderness  of 
Orgon ;  and  you  might  say  that  he  likes  to 
think,  like  that  pig-headed  dupe,  — 

'  He  teaches  me  for  naught  to  feel  affection, 
My  soul  from  every  friendship  he  estranges.' 

"Just  as  the  Tsar  loves  and  venerates  Pobye- 
donostsef, so  he  shows  Katkof  naive  admiration 
and  respectful  deference.  In  the  one  he  sees 
science  inborn  ;  in  the  other,  religion  personi- 
fied. But  the  more  dangerous  of  these  two 
fanatics  is  Katkof,  the  former  Liberal,  the  com- 
panion of  Herzen's  misfortunes,  the  ex-profess- 
or of  philosophy  at  Moscow.  He  scorns  to  hold 
the  reins  of  power ;  he  likes  better  to  give  the 
word  to  those  who  carry  the  order  for  him  and 


IVAN  turg]£nier  153 

by  him  alone.  The  ministers  are  his  valets  ; 
he  has  even  his  under-slaves  ;  it  would  not  be 
interesting  to  mention  all  their  names.  He  is 
the  disgraceful  Richelieu  behind  the  throne, 
who  terrorizes  Russia." 

Notwithstanding  the  very  gloomy  aspect  of 
the  present,  Turgenief  had  unshaken  faith  in 
the  future.  "We  must  not  expect  that  the 
future  will  be  all  roses.  No  matter,  things  will 
come  out  all  right."  And  what  were  the 
means,  according  to  Turgenief's  idea,  of  real- 
izing this  1  Give  up  illusions  and  fidgeting. 
Don't  imagine  that  you  are  going  to  find  a  pan- 
acea, a  remedy  for  the  great  evils ;  and  that,  to 
cure  the  Russian  colossus  of  all  his  tribulations, 
it  will  be  sufficient  to  practise  a  sort  of  incan- 
tation "analogous  to  the  spells  used  by  old 
women  to  calm  the  toothache  suddenly,  mirac- 
ulously." According  to  Turgenief,  the  miracu- 
lous means  alone  changes:  "sometimes  it  is  a 
man,  sometimes  the  natural  sciences,  sometimes 
a  war ;  "  but  what  is  unchangeable  is  faith  in  the 
miracle.  That  is  the  superstition  which  first  of 
all  must  be  extirpated. 

Likewise  the  idea  of  obtaining  without  delay 


154  IVAN  turg£nief. 

"large,  beautiful,  and  glorious"  results,  the 
idea  of  wishing  "to  move  mountains,"  must  be 
renounced.  It  is  necessary  to  know  how  to 
pay  attention  to  little  objects,  to  limit  one's  self 
to  a  very  narrow  circle  of  action,  not  to  step  out 
of  it ;  and  there  without  glory,  almost  without 
result,  work  incessantly.  The  only  activity 
that  is  fruitful  was  defined  by  Turgenief,  in 
quoting  the  two  verses  of  Schiller's  old  man  : 
*'  Unwearied  activity  is  that  which  adds  one 
grain  of  sand  to  another."  **What!"  said  he, 
**you  begin  by  telling  me  that  your  construc- 
tive work  is  ended,  that  the  school  has  just 
been  begun ;  and,  a  little  farther  on,  you  speak 
of  the  despair  which  takes  hold  of  you!  I 
beg  of  you,  for  pity's  sake  :  your  enterprise  has 
already  had  some  small  result.  It  is  not  un- 
fruitful. What  more  do  you  want }  Let  every 
one  do  as  much  in  his  own  sphere,  and  there 
will  be  a  grand,  a  splendid  result." 

And  Turgenief  was  one  of  the  first  to  put  his 
doctrine  into  practice.  Just  as  in  his  youth 
he  signed  the  charter  for  the  emancipation  of 
his  serfs,  with  the  same  pen  which  wrote  the 
indictment   of   serfage   in    "The  Annals   of   a 


IVAN  TURGJ^NIER  155 

Sportsman  ; "  so  in  the  time  of  his  old  age,  not- 
withstanding his  absence,  tortured  as  he  was  by 
the  horrors  of  disease,  he  preached  humbleness 
of  aim  and  constancy  of  effort,  but  he  preached 
it  by  his  example.  All  his  cares  were  directed 
to  the  improvement  of  the  material  and  moral 
condition  of  his  former  serfs.  He  granted  them 
a  fifth  of  the  sum  settled  upon  for  the  redemp- 
tion. At  his  own  expense  he  built  a  school ;  he 
founded  a  hospital  in  his  village  of  Selo  Spas- 
koe  ;  he  succeeded  in  diminishing  drunkenness, 
and  in  spreading  a  taste  for  reading  in  a  re- 
gion where,  at  the  time  of  his  boyhood,  an  edu- 
cated, self-taught  muzhik  was  a  genuine  rarity. 

His  correspondence  shows  that  he  was  greatly 
concerned  about  his  estate  in  the  government 
of  Orel :  but  it  was  not  the  revenue  of  his  lands 
that  troubled  him  ;  it  was  the  happiness,  the 
moral  welfare,  of  his  little  people  of  Spaskoe. 
Behold  the  evolution  which  he  wanted  to  see 
accomplished  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  his 
country,  and  which,  so  far  as  in  him  lay,  he 
called  forth,  he  prepared. 

Any  other  policy  seemed  to  him  useless,  dan- 
gerous, almost   criminal.     He   hoped   that  the 


15^  IVAA'  TURG^NIEF. 

new  reign  was  going  to  inaugurate  a  whole  tra- 
dition of  efforts  in  favor  of  the  development  of 
the  rural  classes.  That  was  why  he  manifested 
his  sympathy  with  the  new  Tsar,  on  the  acces- 
sion of  Alexander  III.:  he  applied  to  him  the 
title,  the  "Emperor  of  the  muzhiks^'  and,  if  this 
was  not  a  name  of  praise,  it  was  found  at  least 
to  contain  a  counsel. 

*'A11  that  one  can  say,"  wrote  Turgenief 
again  on  the  subject  of  the  Tsar,  "is  that  he  is 
Russian,  and  nothing  but  Russian.  .  .  .  Seeing 
him  anywhere,  one  would  know  his  country." 
I  do  not  know  whether  these  words  went  to  the 
Tsar's  heart ;  but  are  they  not  honorable  to  him 
who  penned  them  t  What  Slavophile  would 
have  imagined  any  thing  more  eloquent  in  their 
simplicity  t  In  giving  this  emperor,  "  in  whose 
veins  runs  scarce  a  drop  of  Russian  blood,"  his 
naturalization  papers,  Turgenief  surely  thought 
that  he  had  reached  the  borders  of  eulogy. 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  157 


III. 

After  reading  what  has  gone  before,  I  trust 
that  no  one  will  be  inclined  to  see  a  mere  para- 
dox in  this  affirmation  :  Turgenief  was  above  all 
things  interested  in  the  question  of  politics  and 
social  order,  and  of  this  interest  were  born  all 
his  great  works.  This  was  the  reason  that 
Turgenief  s  writings  so  stirred  the  public : 
hence  the  favor  of  his  readers  at  first  was, 
enthusiastic ;  hence  came  notorious  alienation, 
irritation,  almost  calumnious  fury,  from  the 
time  when  the  public  and  the  author  no  longer 
advanced  with  equal  steps  towards  progress. 
For,  here  is  the  point  to  be  noted :  Turgenief 
never  ceased  to  make  progress  ;  but  as  long  as 
he  walked  slowly,  with  regular  steps,  like  a  man 
who  holds  aloof  from  the  popular  current,  and 
is  not  dragged  along  against  his  will  by  the 
rising  tide  of  the  throng,  the  masses  of  the 
nation  —  I  mean  the  majority  of  the  educated 


15^  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

classes  —  no  longer  regulated  his  gait,  and,  see- 
ing him  each  day  a  little  farther  behind  them, 
imagined  that  he  was  retrograding  or  was  not 
following.  Turgenief  was  advancing,  and  he 
went  to  great  lengths.  Let  us  see  how  great 
was  the  distance  between  "  The  Annals  of  a 
Sportsman"  and  ** Virgin  Soil." 

Turgenief  somewhere  expressed  his  sympa- 
thy and  admiration  for  Don  Quixote.  He  con- 
trasted him  with  the  dreamer  Hamlet,  in  whom 
he  took  little  stock.  Did  not  he  himself  enter 
the  career  of  letters  like  a  knight-errant  {cam- 
peador)  in  the  lists  .^  From  the  very  beginning, 
•when  he  had  won  all  the  glory  of  a  victor,  he 
gave  his  young  talent  to  the  service  of  the  right 
and  of  truth  ;  he  turned  his  pen,  like  a  sword, 
against  egotism,  against  injustice,  against  preju- 
dice,—  in  a  word,  against  the  different  forms 
of  error.  His  maiden  book,  "The  Annals  of  a 
Sportsman,"  was  not  merely  a  literary  event : 
it  brought  about  a  political  revolution.  This 
picture  of  the  wretched  condition  of  the  serfs 
contributed  in  larire  measure  to  call  forth  the 
ukaz  that  enfranchised  Russia. 

It  was   not  the  first    time    that    fiction    had 


IVAN  TURGENIEF.  159 

attacked  the  social  question.  Gogol  had  already 
struck  the  first  blow  against  the  enemy  which 
Turg^nief  had  the  honor  of  defeating.  But 
the  author  of  "■  Dead  Souls  "  had  laid  himself 
out  especially  to  depict  the  faults  and  foibles  of 
the  small  Russian  proprietors ;  and,  while  he 
made  it  sufficiently  evident  how  miserable  was 
the  condition  of  the  serfs  under  their  grotesque 
or  detestable  tyranny,  his  book  left  the  unfor- 
tunate muzhik  in  the  background.  Turgenief's 
originality  consisted  in  placing  this  pariah  in 
full  light.  He  dared  to  show  not  only  his  pity 
but  his  affection  for  the  Russian  peasant,  often 
narrow-minded,  ignorant,  or  brutal,  but  good  at 
heart.  He  undertook  to  reveal  to  the  Russians 
this  being  which  they  scarcely  knew. 

In  the  very  first  pages  of  his  book  he  showed 
him  with  his  instinctive  qualities ;  and  for  this 
reason  he  took  pains  to  place  him  in  an  excep- 
tional condition,  that  is  to  say,  in  that  sort  of 
relative  independence  occasionally  realized  in 
spite  of,  or  by  favor  of,  the  law.  .  Khor  and 
Kalinuitch  are  accordingly  almost  freed  from 
the  actual  miseries  of  serfage,  —  the  first  by 
living  in  the  midst  of  a  swamp,  avoiding  statute 


l6o  IVAN  turgEnief. 

labor  by  paying  a  quit-rent  {obrok) ;  the  second 
by  serving  as  whipper-in  for  his  master,  whom  he 
passionately  adores.  The  former  is  a  imtshikj 
who  has  the  feeling  of  reality,  "  who  is  settled 
in  life;"  the  other  is  a  dreamer,  ''who  sticks  to 
nothing,  and  smiles  at  all  things."  Khor  the 
cautious  has  carefully  observed  men  and  things, 
and  his  experiences  are  expressed  with  that 
humorous  naivvte  which  gives  such  a  color  to 
the  conversation  of  the  Russian  peasant.  Ka- 
linuitch  the  enthusiast  has  the  inspired  lan- 
guage of  a  poet.  He  is  largely  endowed  with 
mysterious  powers.  The  bees  obey  him  as 
though  he  were  an  enchanter.  Both  of  them 
are  good.  The  one  is  devout  and  gentle ;  the 
other,  simply  cordial  and  hospitable.  There  is 
profit  in  listening  to  the  former,  and  pleasure 
in  holdins:  intercourse  with  the  latter.  Under 
these  features  Turgenief  pictured  the  Russian 
of  the  country  districts.  After  showing  him, 
so  to  speak,  in  his  native  state,  he  went  on  to 
explain  the  deformities  from  which  the  type  was 
liable  to  suffer  under  the  brutalizing  influences 
of  serfdom. 

The  first  alteration  of  the  character  of   the 


IVAN  turg£nief.  i6i 

Russian  muzhik  is  a  sort  of  ferocious,  even 
savage,  humor,  which  takes  the  place  of  the 
original  reason  or  ingenuity.  The  huntsman 
YermolaY  offers  us  a  curious  example  of  this 
reversion  to  barbarism,  of  this  return  of  the 
muzhik  towards  the  savage  state.  Emanci- 
pated in  the  manner  of  an  outlaw,  of  a  bandit, 
he  lives  in  the  woods  or  the  marsh,  sleeping  on 
a  roof,  under  a  bridge,  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree, 
hunted  down  by  the  peasants  like  a  hare,  beaten 
sometimes  like  a  dog,  but,  aside  frorri  these  trials, 
enjoying  to  the  full  this  strange  independence. 
He  does  not  support  his  wife  or  his  dog,  both 
of  whom  he  beats  with  the  same  brutal  indif- 
ference. He  has  all  the  instincts  of  the  beast 
of  prey  in  scenting  game,  in  trapping  birds, 
in  catching  fish.  He  already  possesses  the 
shrewdness  of  the  savage  :  he  would  easily 
acquire  his  cruelty.  "  I  did  not  like  the  expres- 
sion which  came  over  his  face  when  he  applied 
his  teeth  to  the  bird  he  had  just  brought  to 
earth." 

However  precarious  and  anxious  this  inde- 
pendent life  may  be,  it  appears  very  enviable 
when   compared   to   the   torment   and  degrada- 


1 62  IVAN  TURG£NIEF. 

tions  of  slavery.  The  muzhik  Vlas  walks  all 
the  way  to  Moscow,  where  he  comes  to  ask  a 
reduction  in  his  quit-rent ;  for  his  son  who  paid 
it  for  him  is  dead,  and  he  himself  is  old.  The 
harin  slams  the  door  in  his  face,  with  the  words, 
"  How  do  you  dare  to  come  to  me } "  Vlas 
sadly  returns  to  his  hut,  where  his  wife  is  wait- 
ing for  him,  blowing  in  her  fist  from  starvation. 
"  His  lip  is  drawn,  and  in  his  little  bloodshot 
eyes  stands  a  tear."  He  suddenly  bursts  out 
into  a  laugh,  thinking  that  they  can't  take  any 
thing  more  from  him  than  his  life,  —  "a  wretched 
pledge,"  —  and  that  that  damned  German,  the 
prikashchik  Quintilian  Semenitch,  "will  shuffle 
in  vain  : "  that's  all  he'll  get.  That  tear  of 
anguish,  and  that  desperate  laugh,  are  never  to 
be  forgotten. 

Here  are  other  impressions  not  less  cruel. 
The  serf  Sutchok,  now  employed  at  his  trade 
of  fisherman,  tells  how  he  began  by  working  as 
a  cook ;  and  how,  in  changing  his  profession, 
according  as  he  went  from  master  to  master, 
he  found  himself  successively  cook,  restaurant- 
keeper,  actor,  then  back  to  his  ovens  again, 
then  wearing  livery  as  sub-footman,  then  pos- 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  1 63 

tilion,  then  huntsman,  then  cobbler,  then  jour- 
neyman in  a  paper-mill.  These  caprices  of  the 
mastership  which  weighs  upon  the  nmzJiik  have 
not  only  their  ridiculous  side  :  there  is  always 
something  detestable  about  it.  The  last  owner 
of  this  wretch,  whose  life  is  only  an  irksome 
apprenticeship,  is  an  old  maid,  who  vents  her 
spleen  at  hawng  been  left  in  single-blessedness 
by  forbidding  all  her  household  to  marry.  This 
abasement  of  a  human  being,  condemned  by  his 
master  to  isolation,  to  barrenness,  like  a  beast, 
is  powerfully  shown  in  the  little  tale  entitled 
"Yermolai  and  the  Miller  Girl." 

But  what  seems  still  more  painful  than  the 
slavery  itself  is  to  see  that  it  is  endured  with 
resignation,  and  sometimes  even  upheld,  ex- 
cused, by  those  who  have  to  submit  to  it.  '*  How 
do  you  live  t "  is  asked  of  one  of  these  victims 
of  feudal  despotism.  "  Do  you  get  wages,  a 
fixed  salary  V  —  "A  salary  !  Ekh  !  barin^  we 
are  given  our  victuals.  Indeed,  that's  all  we 
need,  God  knows !  And  may  Heaven  grant  long 
life  to  our  baruina!''  Another  has  just  been 
tremendously  flogged.  He  treats  wit"h  very 
bad  grace  the  stranger  who  presumes  to  express 


164  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

commiseration  ;  he  takes  the  part  of  the  master 
who  has  so  cruelly  abused  him  for  a  trifle ;  he 
is  proud  of  belonging  to  a  man  who  makes 
strict  use  of  his  seignorial  prerogatives.  **  No, 
no!  there  is  not  a  barin  like  to  him  in  the 
whole  province !  " 

Turg^nief  does  not  confine  himself  to  the  ex- 
pression of  pity  for  the  muzJiiks  :'^\\.^  is  unspar- 
ing of  the  nobles.  With  what  irony  he  depicts 
for  us  their  false  sentimentality,  their  detestable 
selfishness  !  How .  he  lays  his  finger  on  their 
absurdities  !  How  he  scourges  their  cruelty  ! 
How  he  lays  bare  their  hypocrisy  !  They  all  ap- 
pear in  the  book,  from  the  narrow  and  cringing 
citizen,  to  the  cynically  brutal  co\xxi\.xy  pomyesh- 
cJiiky  from  the  gentlemen  of  the  steppe  {step- 
niaks)  up  to  the  vanished  nobles,  those  legend- 
ary vyelmozJmi,  personified  in  Count  Alekse'f 
Orlof,  so  handsome,  so  strong,  so  terrible,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  beloved  !  "If  you  were  not 
acquainted  with  him,  you  would  feel  abashed  ; 
but  after  getting  wonted  to  his  presence,  you  felt 
warmed  and  delighted  as  by  a  beautiful  sunrise." 
The  author  finds  in  this  vanished  aristocracy 
the  rather  barbaric  form  of  his  own  grandfather, 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  1 65 

and  he  cannot  refrain  here  from  a  sort  of  ad- 
miration. It  is  true,  that  small  men  have  a 
sympathy  very  differently  marked  for  these 
ostentatious  giants  of  the  olden  days.  Besides, 
is  it  not  enough  that  the  author  of  "Annals  of 
a  Sportsman  "  makes  no  secret  of  the  excesses 
committed  by  those  of  his  race  t  Has  he  not 
the  right  to  remember  that  the  form  of  oppres- 
sion has  merely  been  changed,  and  that  the 
serf  is  not  less  abused  from  falling  from  the 
mighty  hands  of  the  tyrants,  into  the  hooked 
claws  of  tyrannical  weaklings  } 

But  the  true  tormentor  of  the  serf  was  a  man 
whose  condition  brought  him  nearest  to  the 
muzhik;  the  one  who,  more  often  than  not,  was 
himself  only  a  imizhik  polished  up,  —  in  other 
words,  the  representativ^e  of  the  proprietor, 
the  superintendent  {prikashchik),  the  biirmistr. 
This  subaltern  master  pays  the  peasant's  quit- 
rent  until  the  latter,  overwhelmed  with  debts, 
is  absolutely  in  his  power.  He  becomes  his 
slave,  his  drudge.  Now  and  then  will  be  found 
in  the  woods  the  corpse  of  some  WTetoii  who 
has  torn  himself  from  this  hell,  by  suicide.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  complaining }     The  propria- 


i66 


IVAN   TURGENIEF. 


tor  receives  his  revenue,  and  is  satisfied.  And 
then  the  prikashcJiik  has  a  thousand  ways  of 
getting  hold  of  the  fault-finder,  and  the  wreak- 
ing of  his  vengeance  brings  a  groan. 

Proprietors,  muzhiks^  priskashchiks,  all  these 
characters  strike,  move,  stir,  by  their  fidelity  to 
the  truth.  In  a  subject  which  lent  itself  so 
easily  to  declamation,  the  author  succeeded  in 
refraining  from  all  excess  of  fine  writing.  This 
self-restraint  in  form  gave  greater  force  to  the 
satire,  and  added  weight  to  the  argument.  Be- 
sides, under  the  irony  the  bitterness  was  felt,  and 
under  the  comic  fervor  was  occasionally  heard 
the  rumbling  of  a  generous  wrath.  Turgenief 
himself  explained  the  feelings  which  animated 
him  at  this  period  of  his  life,  which  I  would 
rather  compare  to  the  morning  of  a  battle.  He 
had  just  left  Russia,  the  atmosphere  of  which 
seemed  no  longer  fit  to  breathe.  He  went  away 
to  get  a  fresh  start,  so  as  to  come  back  with  a 
renewed  impetus  against  his  enemy  serfage. 
"  I  swore  that  I  would  fight  it  even  to  the  death ; 
I  vowied  that  I  would  never  come  to  terms  with 
it :  that  was  my  Hannibal's  oath." 

From  one  end  of  his  work  to  the  other,  Tur- 


IVAN   TURGI^XIEF.  1 6/ 

gdnief  never  did  aught  else  than  thus  reflect 
the  feelings  of  the  Russian  people,  express  its 
hopes,  note  carefully,  proclaim  sincerely,  all  the  ^ 
forward  and  backward  movements  of  opinion. 
In  every  one  of  his  novels,  there  is  to  be  found 
one  person  whose  appearance,  conduct,  and 
worth  may  vary,  but  whose  dominant  character- 
istic holds  throughout  all  changes.  This  per- 
sonage, however  alive  he  may  be,  serves  to 
express  an  abstraction.  He  is,  so  to  speak,  the 
incarnation  of  the  wishes,  the  fears,  the  claims, 
of  the  Russian  people.  Now,  in  Russia,  as  else- 
where, and  still  more  than  elsewhere,  public 
opinion  is  undergoing  constant  modification : 
the  novelist  has  followed  with  careful  eye,  and 
copied  with  accurate  hand,  all  these  rapid  trans- 
formations. 

In  Dmitri  Rudin,  he  depicts  for  us  a  lofty  but 
inconsequential  generation,  eloquent,  but  lack- 
ing in  depth,  eager  for  every  undertaking,  but 
having  np  fixed  purpose;  as  the  youth  of  1840 
must  have  been,  who  had  the  power  of  speech, 
but  were  prevented  from  action.^ 

*  Pfsemsky  described  this  same  generation  in  his  great  story,  Liudi 
Sorokovuikh  Godof  (People  of  the  Forties).  —  N.  H.  D. 


1 68  IP' AN   TURGIiNlEF. 

This  was  the  epoch  when  there  was  a  passion 
for  words,  and  especially  for  words  of  foreign 
origin.  Hegel's  philosophy  frothed  and  foamed 
in  these  Russian  brains,  so  little  constituted  for 
the  digestion  of  metaphysical  nutriment.  But 
the  fashion  was  for  cosmopolitanism  :  they  af- 
fected to  scorn  national  habits ;  they  dreamed 
only  of  going  ''  beyond  Russia."  Rudin,  who 
personifies  this  error,  was  its  first  victim.  At 
first  he  carries  away,  he  rouses  to  enthusiasm, 
all  whom  he  approaches ;  then  his  friends,  his 
disciples,  ultimately,  sooner  or  later,  turn  against 
him.  He  succeeds  in  rousing  only  hatred,  or 
exciting  only  distrust.  Useless  and  inactive 
amid  his  own  people,  he  goes  to  perish  on  a 
French  barricade ;  and  by  a  supreme  but  uncon- 
scious irony,  the  insurgent  who  fights  at  his  side 
pronounces  his  funeral  oration  ^in  these  words : 
*'  Lo,  they  have  killed  our  Pole  !" 

Is  it  true  to  say  that  the  Rudins  were  of  no 
advantage  to  their  country  .?  The  author  gives 
us  to  understand,  that  their  words  may  have 
cast  the  germ  of  generous  thoughts  into  more 
than  one  young  soul  to  whom  nature  will  not 
refuse  the  advantage  of  a  fruitful  activity. 


n^AJV  TURG&NIEF.  1 69 

To  this  same  unfortunate  family  of  fore- 
runners, and  to  this  same  sacrificed  but  indis- 
pensable generation,  belongs  the  character  of 
Lavretsky  in  the  romance  entitled  "A  Nest 
of  Noblemen."  Unlike  Rudin,  Lavretsky  owes 
nothing  to  schooling.  Scarcely  does  he  have 
time  for  applying  his  simple  and  ingenuous  mind 
to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  during  the 
period  between  the  moment  when  he  escapes 
the  durance  of  paternal  despotism,  and  that 
when  he  takes  upon  him  the  more  pleasing  yoke 
of  conjugal  will.  He  therefore  has  remained 
Russian  ;  he  believes  in  the  future  of  the  na- 
tional genius.  He  is  lavish  of  himself,  and  of 
those  of  his  age ;  but  he  admires  the  tendencies 
of  the  young,  and  he  praises  their  endeavors. 
Departing  from  his  country,  happy,  or  at  least 
under  that  delusion,  he  returns  alone  and 
crushed  ;  but  he  has  the  consolation  of  doing  his 
duty,  that  is  to  say,  cultivating  his  estate,  and 
improving  the  lot  of  his  peasants.  This  un- 
ostentatious work  of  Lavretsky's,  better  than 
Rudin*s  brilliant  declamations,  pointed  out  to 
the  rising  generations  what  Russia  henceforth 
expected  from  her  sons:  "You  must   act,  and 


I70  IVAN  TURGP.NIEF. 

the  benediction  of   us  old    men  will  fall    upon 
you." 

But  this  period  of  action  which  they  seem  to 
be  approaching  will  be  postponed  before  the 
unanimous  wishes  of  the  novelist  and  the  read- 
er. In  the  book  "  On  the  Eve,"  translated  into 
French  under  the  title  "  Helene,"  '  the  author's 
aim  is  very  evident.  He  contrasts  two  Rus- 
sians with  a  Bulgarian ;  and  the  brilliant  or 
solid  qualities  of  the  artist  Shubin  and  the  stu- 
dent Bersenief  yield  before  the  unique  virtue 
of  Insarof,  a  more  common  nature.  This  virtue 
of  the  barbarian  is  to  go  straight  ahead ;  he 
does  .not  delay  for  dreaming  or  discussion ; 
there  is  nothing  of  the  Hamlet  about  him. 
However  strange  be  his  ideal,  however  adven- 
turous his  lot,  he  carries  with  him  Elena's  hesi- 
tating wisdom,  just  as  Don  Quixote  overcame 
Sancho's  rebellious  good  sense.  It  is  this  deci- 
siveness, this  bold  gait,  this  firm  resolution  not 
to  fall  back,  and  resolutely  to  emerge- from  the 
beaten  path,  which  the  author  of  "  On  the  Eve  " 
seems  to  hold  up  before  the  Russian  people. 
But  it  might  be  said  that  he  despaired  of  find- 

»  Also  under  the  title  Un  Bulgare.  —  N.  H.  D. 


IP^AA'  TURG^NIEF.  I/I 

ing  in  his  own  country  the  man  of  action,  des- 
tined to  win  the  glory  to  come ;  and  it  was  thus 
that  the  Russian  critics  explained  his  signifi- 
cant choice  of  a  Bulgarian  for  the  hero  of  his 
romance. 

This  ingenious  explanation  is  not  correct. 
Insarof  and  Elena  have  experienced  life. 
This  beautiful  young  Russian  girl,  who  is 
anxious  to  devote  herself  to  a  noble  cause, 
and  who,  not  being  able  to  die  for  her  own 
country,  clings  to  the  lot  of  the  foreigner  who 
shows  her  the  path  of  great  sacrifices,  was  not 
a  creature  of  Turgenief's  imagination.  Not 
only  did  Elena  exist,  but  there  was  a  throng 
of  Elenas  who  asked  only  for  a  chance  to 
show  themselves.  This  was  seen  as  soon  as 
the  romance  was  published.  All  feminine 
hearts  throbbed.  One  might  say  that  the 
author  had  placed  before  the  eyes  of  the  vir- 
gins of  Russia  a  mirror,  where,  for  the  first 
time,  they  were  allowed  to  see  themselves, 
and  become  conscious  of  their  own  existence. 
A.  few  years  later  Elena  would  have  had  a 
chance  to  offer  herself  to  Russia.  She  would 
have   acted   like  Viera    Sasuluitch,   or,   not  to 


1/2  IVAN  TURGENIEF. 

go  outside  of  fiction,  like  Marian  in  "Virgin 
Soil." 
/^^  In  the  famous  novel  "Fathers  and  Sons," 
the  young  generation  for  the  first  time  comes 
upon  the  scene.  It  is  represented  by  the  medi- 
cal student  Bazarof.  Better  to  bring  out  his 
hero  by  a  fortunate  contrast,  the  author  has 
put  this  brutal  but  thoroughly  original  plebeian 
face  to  face  with  a  gentleman  in  whom  are 
united  all  the  qualities  and  the  eccentricities 
of  the  conservative  nobility.  Again,  it  is  Ger- 
man education  which  has  fashioned  Bazarof. 
But  Hegel's  theories  have  given  place  to  Scho- 
penhauer's ;  and  Germanic  pessimism,  grafted 
on  the  Russian  mind,  has  brought  forth  very 
strange  fruit.  The  young  men  of  whom  Baza- 
rof is  a  type  are  of  the  earth  earthy,  to  the 
same  degree  as  that  generation  of  which  Ru- 
din  was  the  shining  example  showed  itself 
exalted.  They  have  only  one  aim,  action;  they 
admit  only  one  principle  of  action,  utility ;  they 
see  only  one  form  of  utility  at  the  present  time, 
absolute  negation.  "  Yet  isn't  it  necessary  io 
rebuild  .''  —  That  does  not  concern  us.  Before 
all  things  we  must  clear  the  ground." 


IVAN  TURG£nIEF,  173 

Here,  clearly  formulated,  is  the  theory  of 
Nihilism.  This  word,  invented  by  Turgenief, 
and  spoken  for  the  first  time  in  "  Fathers  and 
Sons,"  has  in  short  space  gone  all  over  the 
world.  We  know  that  all  Russian  readers, 
young  and  old,  blamed  the  author  of  the  novel 
for  slandering  them.  The  older  generation 
could  not  forgive  him  for  having  spurned  their 
prejudices  ;  the  rising  generation  were  angry 
with  him  for  not  preaching  their  errors.  What 
strikes  us  to-day  is  that  at  this  moment  he  was 
able  to  remain  so  clear-sighted  and  sincere ; 
that  he  was  able  to  unite  so  much  nobility 
with  Pavel  Kirsanof's  narrow-sightedness,  and 
so  much  subtilty  with  Bazarof's  destructive 
scepticism. 

But  the  character  which  Turgenief  liked  best 
in  this  romance  of  "  Fathers  and  Sons "  was 
Bazarof,  —  in  other  words,  that  personage  rep- 
resenting the  Russian  soul  with  aspiration  to- 
ward progress,  no  longer  ideal  and  vague,  but 
violent,  and  brutal.  "  What !  i\o  you^  do  you  say 
that  in  Bazarof  I  desired  to  draw  a  caricature 
of  our  young  men }  You  repeat  (excuse  the 
freedom   of    the  expression),  you    repeat    that 


174     .  IFAJV  TURGENIEF. 

Stupid  reproach  ?  Bazarof !  but  he  is  my  well- 
beloved  son,  who  caused  me  to  break  with  Kat- 
kof,  for  whom  I  expended  all  the  colors  on 
my  palette.  Bazarof,  that  quick  spirit,  that 
hero,  a  caricature  !  "  And  he  took  delight  in 
returning  to  the  definition  of  this  enigmatic 
personage.  He  never  wearies  in  commenting 
on  *^this  harbinger  type,"  this  ''grand  figure," 
surrounded  by  a  genuine  "magic  spell,"  and, 
as  it  were,  by  some  sort  of  ''aureole." 

The  conclusion  of  the  book  lies  in  the  ironi- 
cal and  bitter  advice  given  by  Bazarof  to  his 
friend  Arkad  :  "  Take  thee  a  wife  as  soon  as 
thou  canst,  build  thy  nest  well,  and  beget  many 
children.  They  will  certainly  be  people  of 
brains,  because  they  will  come  in  due  time, 
and  not  like  thee  and  me." 

Thus  is  the  solution  of  the  social  problem 
once  more  postponed.  The  rock  of  Sisyphus 
falls  back  as  heavily  on  the  new-comers  as 
on  their  predecessors.  The  recoil  is  even  so 
mighty  that  the  observer  feels  that  he  too  is 
attacked  by  pessimism  ;  and  if  he  does  not  take 
pride  in  absolute  negation,  like  Bazarof  or  his 
young  adepts,  he  just  as  surely  comes  to  deny 


IP' AN-  TURG£NIEF.  175 

their  qualities,  to  see  any  sense  in  their  con- 
duct. The  romance  "  Smoke,"  which  is  the 
expression  of  this  new  state  of  mind,  roused 
in  Russia  all  the  clamors  by  which  a  satire  is 
received.  What  was  entirely  overlooked  was 
the  feeling  of  painful  compassion  hidden  under 
the  af^csrressive  form.  It  was  an  act  of  enli^rht- 
ened  patriotism,  to  let  daylight  into  the  hollow 
declamations  of  the  progressists,  and  to  lay 
the  scourge  on  the  stupid  folly,  the  idiotic  de- 
pravity, of  a  nobility  which  had  brought  itself 
into  discredit.  Between  Gubaref,  that  solemn 
imbecile,  and  Ramirof,  the  complaisant  hus- 
band of  a  faithless  wife,  one  must  go  to  the 
hero  of  the  story,  Litvinof ;  that  is  to  say,  to 
the  idealized  Russia,  whose  gloomy  and  painful 
destiny  we  have  followed  c^cross  all  Turgenief's 
w^ork,  under  the  features  of  Rudin,  of  Lavret- 
sky,  of  Bazarof.  Like  Lavretsky  twenty  years 
before,  Litvinof  returns  to  his  countryr- 
whelmed  with  domestic  troubles,  whiqh  exas- 
perate all  his  other  feelings,  and  change  the 
mishaps  of  his  patriotism  into  despiir.  The 
vanity  of  love  makes  him  find  all  th/ngs  vain. 
In  the  tumult  of  the  recent  years,  in  the  agita- 


1/6  IVA]\r  TURGJ^NIEF. 

tion  of  divers  classes,  in  the  words  of  others, 
in  his  oy^^n  thoughts,  he  sees  mere  nothingness, 
sham,  smoke.  The  desolation  of  this  conclu- 
sion was  brought  up  against  the  author  of  the 
book,  by  his  compatriots,  with  a  warmth  which 
almost  disgusted  him  with  the  role  of  political 
observer,  and  almost  deprived  us  likewise  of  a 
masterpiece  in  which  Turgenief  seems  to  have 
reached  his  greatest  height,  —  '*  Virgin  Soil." 

The  author  of  "  Fathers  and  Sons  "  named 
and  defined  theoretic  Nihilism:  in  "Virgin 
Soil,"  the  same  author  shows  us  the  Nihilists 
at  the  very  moment  when,  for  the  first  time, 
they  begin  to  act.  Between  the  two  books  a 
pretty  long  time  elapsed,  during  which  Tur- 
genief kept  silent.  There  is  lacking,  therefore, 
among  his  works,  a  book  which  might  let  us 
into  the  secrets  of  the  dark  development  and 
mysterious  spread  of  the  new  theories.  In 
regard  to  this  Nihilist  propaganda  in  its  early 
years,  when  it  was  only  an  attempt  at  self- 
instruction,  we  find,  in  ''Virgin  Soil,"  only 
hints,  allusions.  The  very  character,  however, 
who  is  going  to  bring  about  the  crisis,  at  the 
risk  of  destroying  every  thing  along  with  him- 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  177 

self,  Markclof,  still  reads  and  propagates  with 
naifve  assurance  the  "  brochures "  which  are 
secretly  sent  him,  and  which  he  passes  on 
"under  the  mantle"  to  his  other  confederates. 
What  subjects  were  treated  in  these  books  so 
carefully  hidden  ?  Those  which  were  worth  the 
trouble  of  reading  were  translations  of  foreign 
works  on  political  economy  ;  writings  attacking, 
with  greater  or  less  ability,  the  problems  of 
society.  But  this  instruction,  good  or  bad, 
could  not  have  the  least  influence  on  the  great 
mass  of  the  Russian  population,  which  does  not 
read  at  all. 

It  was  therefore  necessary  to  find  more  effica- 
cious means  of  action,  and  to  organize  actual 
preaching.  Then  it  was  that  a  pretty  large 
number  of  people  belonging  to  the  educated 
classes,  students  like  Nedzhanof,  women  vol- 
untarily deserting  their  own  rank  in  life,  like 
Marian,  undertook  to  go  down  among  the 
people,  to  dress  in  their  style,  to  speak  their 
dialect,  to  lead  their  rough  lives,  to  gain  their 
confidence  at  the  cost  of  this  labor,  to  open 
their  minds  to  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  progress, 
to  rescue  them  from   the  double  curse  of  lazi- 


17^  IVAN   TURG^NIEF. 

ness  and  drunkenness,  and,  finally,  to  bring 
them  into  the  path  of  action.  The  trouble  was 
that  these  people  who  preached  action  did  not 
themselves  know  where  to  begin  the  work. 
Each  of  them,  was  waiting  for  the  word  of 
command,  which  no  one  could  give  ;  for  in  this 
concert  of  wills  there  was  no  one  to  direct,  and 
the  most  violent  efforts,  from  lack  of  deter- 
mined purpose,  were  obliged  to  remain  without 
results. 

Another  insurmountable  obstacle  lay  in  the 
repugnance  of  the  people  at  emerging  from 
their  tremendous  inertia.  Nedzhanof  compares 
Holy  Russia  to  a  colossus,  whose  head  touches 
the  north  pole  and  his  feet  the  Caucasus,  and 
who,  holding  a  jug  of  vodka  in  his  clutched 
fingers,  sleeps  an  endless  sleep.  Those  who 
try  to  struggle  against  this  sleep  lose  their  time 
and  their  labor.  Discouragement  takes  hold  of 
them,  and  some  of  them,  like  Markelof,  for  hav- 
ing desired,  having  tried  by  themselves  alone, 
to  perform  a  part  which  needs  the  efforts  of  an 
army,  go  forth  on  the  hopeless  path  by  the  gate 
that  leads  to  Siberia;  others,  like  Nedzhanof, 
having  lost  faith  in  this  work  for  the  regenera- 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  179 

tion  and  enfranchisement  of  a  people  to  which 
they  believed  themselves  capable  of  offering 
their  devotion,  throw  down  violently  the  double 
burden  of  their  vain  labor  and  their  ridiculous 
lives.  The  Russian  Hamlet  gets  rid  of  his 
mission  by  suicide. 

This  beautiful  novel  of  "Virgin  Soil,"  which 
must  be  read  through,  appeared  on  the  very 
eve  of  the  great  Nihilist  suit  against  the  One 
Hundred  and  Ninety-three.  At  first  the  cry 
was  raised,  that  the  author  did  not  draw  a  true 
picture :  the  author  was  again  slandering 
Russia.  A  few  days  later  the  critics,  dis- 
mayed at  his  power  of  divination,  accused 
Turgenief  of  having  got  into  the  confidence 
of  the  ruling  power,  and  of  having  had  in  his 
hands  the  entire  brief  of  the  preparatory  trial.  ^ 
Some  Nihilists  were  already  dreaming  of  more 
tragic  performances.  **  I  also,"  said  one  of 
them,  who  at  this  time  was  a  refugee  in  Paris, 
"  I  also  am  a  Nedzhanof ;  but  I  shall  not  kill 
myself  as  he  did :  there  is  a  better  way  of 
doing  it."     This  better  way  was  worse.     It  was 

^  It  was  reported,  and  believed  by  some,  that  the  Russian  govern- 
ment paid  Turgenief  fifty  thousand  rubles  for  Virgin  Soil.  —  N.  H.  D. 


l8o  IVAJV  TURGENIEF. 

assassination  in  the  manner  of  Solovief,  who, 
having  resolved  to  kill  himself,  and  for  the 
same  reasons  that  influenced  Nedzhanof,  will 
inaugurate  suicide  with  a  bloody  preface. 

Since  "Virgin  Soil,"  the  evolution  of  Nihil- 
ism has  made  new  and  rapid  strides.  The 
mania  of  descending  among  the  people,  and 
''being  simplified"  has  given  place  to  other 
fantastic  notions,  just  as  useless,  but  less  inno- 
cent. We  have  said  that  Turgenief  died  before 
he  had  time  to  finish  the  romance  in  which  he 
would  have  shown  us  the  agitations  of  to-day, 
and  possibly  pointed  out  the  social  reforms  of 
to-morrow. 

Who  knows  what  Russia  is  preparing  for  us  .'* 
Hitherto  the  reforms  have  been  decreed  by  the 
throne ;  and  the  ukazes  have  remained  without 
effect,  because  they  have  not  had  the  support 
in  the  lever  of  the  people.  The  expenditure  of 
energy,  starting  from  above,  did  not  make  the 
nation  stir.  But  now  suddenly  the  nation  seems 
to  be  shaking  off  its  torpor.  The  peasants, 
hitherto  deaf  to  all  voices,  and  stubbornly  re- 
sistant of  all  progress,  have  perhaps  found  for 
themselves  the  way  of  safety  and  redemption. 


ivAuV  turg£nief.  i8i 

They  are  assembling  in  their  villages,  and  they 
are  organizing  the  league  against  drunkenness. 
This  strike  against  the  wine-shop  is  terrifying 
to  the  Russian  clergy :  they  see  in  it  a  new 
form  of  heresy.  In  their  eyes,  these  water- 
drinkers  are  raskolniks^  and  the  most  dangerous 
kind.  We  know  the  Russian  proverb  versified 
by  Nekrasof :  "  The  muzhik  h^s  a  head  like  a 
bull :  when  a  folly  finds  lodgement  there,  it  is 
impossible  to  drive  it  out,  even  with  heavy 
blows  of  the  goad,"  It  is  this  headstrong  ob- 
stinacy which  seemed  to  postpone  forever,  and 
which  may  precipitate  to-morrow,  the  settlement 
of  the  social  question. 


1^2  IVAN  TURC^NIEF. 


IV. 

The  expressions,  "Russian  ideal,"  "repre- 
sentative type  of  one  generation,"  and  other 
terms  of  this  kiijd,  which  one  must  necessarily 
use  to  mark  the  connection  between  Turge- 
nief  s  different  works,  must  not  be  allowed  to 
give  a  false  idea  of  the  nature  of  his  talent  and 
of  his  methods  in  fiction. 

He  has  himself  defined  his  talent.  He  has 
explained  his  methods  so  far  as  they  were  essen- 
tial. We  have,  therefore,  only  to  turn  to  these 
precious  directions.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few 
words  that  I  am,  so  far  as  preference  goes,  a 
realist ;  and  that  I  am  interested,  more  than  all 
else,  in  the  living  truth  of  the  human  physiog- 
nomy." He  says  elsewhere,  that  at  no  moment 
of  his  career  has  he  ever  taken  for  his  point  of 
departure  in  a  new  creation  an  abstract  idea, 
but  that  he  has  always  started  with  the  true 
image,  the  objective  reality,  the  characteristic 
personage  observed  and  living. 


IFAAT  TURG£NIEF.  1 83 

Here  is  the  very  principle  of  his  aesthetic, 
as  he  summed  it  up  in  his  letter  to  Mr.  King, 
a  novelist  just  beginning  his  career:  "If  the 
study  of  the  human  physiognomy,  and  of  the 
life  of  another,  interests  you  more  than  the  pro- 
mulgation of  your  own  feelings  and  your  own 
ideas ;  if,  for  example,  it  is  more  agreeable  for 
you  -to  reproduce  accurately  the  external  ap- 
pearance not  only  of  a  man,  but  also  of  a  sim- 
ple object,  than  to  express  with  elegance  and 
warmth  what  you  feel  in  seeing  this  object  or 
this  man,  —  then  you  are  an  objective  writer, 
and  you  can  begin  a  story  or  a  novel." 

Truth  is  not  disagreeable  to  those  who  love 
it :  it  gives  life  to  their  conceptions.  Turge- 
nief's  work,  the  political  bearing  of  which  we 
have  already  tried  to  show  our  readers,  is  a 
little  world  where  go  and  come  a  thousand 
people  with  variously  expressive  characters 
and  faces.  The  creator  of  such  living  char- 
acters as  these  has  been  compared  to  a  great 
portrait-painter.  The  comparison  is  unjust  to 
the  novelist.  Like  the  great  painters  of  por- 
traits, he  seizes  a  dominant  feature,  and  ex- 
presses   it    powerfully.     It    is    thus    that    in    a 


1 84  IVAJV  turg£nief. 

book,  on  the  canvas,  the  resemblance  is  caught. 
But  the  art  of  a  Titian,  of  a  Reynolds,  renders 
the  aspect  of  the  face,  and  reveals,  if  you  like, 
something  more, — the  temperament  of  the 
model.  It  goes  scarcely  beyond  that.  The 
novelist  expresses,  besides,  a  whole  order  of 
hidden  facts,  a  whole  internal  spectacle,  of 
which  the  brush  scarcely  gives  us  an  inkling. 
There  is  therefore  a  double  field  of  studies  to 
go  over,  a  double  power  of  observation  to  put 
into  use.  It  is  necessary  at  one  and  the  same 
time  to  note  the  attitude,  and  interpret  the  dis- 
position ;  to  catch  the  expression  of  the  face,  and 
to  penetrate  the  meaning  of  the  character. 

Turgenief  possessed  this  double  talent  to 
a  very  high  degree.  As  a  general  thing, 
he  paints  with  broad  touches  ;  and  his  por- 
trait, both  physically  and  morally,  is  finished 
in  few  words.  Sometimes  the  detail  is  more 
minute,  but  the  accumulation  of  lines  serves 
only  to  verify  the  dominant  impression.  I 
refer  the  reader  to  the  romance  of  "  The 
Abandoned  One,"  and  to  that  admirable  por- 
trait of  the  old  Russian  gentleman  in  the  time 
of  Catherine  II.      What  a  calling-back  of  the 


IVAN  TURGENIEF.  1 8$ 

past  is  given  by  this  old  man  of  lofty  stature, 
perfumed  with  ambergris,  glacial  in  doublet  of 
silk  with  its  relief  of  stock  and  lace  ruffles,  a 
suspicion  of  powder  on  his  hair  brought  behind 
into  a  cue,  and  in  his  hand  a  gold  snuff-box 
ornamented  with  the  empress's  cipher!  He 
always  speaks  French ;  he  scarcely  knows 
Russian.  He  reads  perforce  every  day  Vol- 
taire, Mably,  Helvetius,  the  Encyclopedistes ; 
he  has  whilom  improvised  verses  in  Madame  de 
Polignac's  j^/^;/;  he  has  been  among  the  guests 
at  Trianon  ;  he  has  seen  Mirabeau  wearing  coat- 
buttons  of  extravagant  size,  and  his  opinion  on 
our  great  orator  is,  that  he  was  "exaggerated 
in  all  respects ;  that,  on  the  whole,  he  was  a 
man  of  low  tone,  in  spite  of  his  birth." 

It  is  seen  by  this  example,  that  Turgenief's 
portraits  often  represent  a  class  in  an  individ- 
ual. They  are  the  expression  of  an  epoch. 
In  fact,  though  he  studies  nature  closely,  he 
takes  pains  not  to  content  himself,  as  our  real- 
ists do,  with  the  first  model  that  comes  to 
hand.  He  carefully  seeks  for  the  character 
whose  features  are  sufficiently  marked  and  ori- 
ginal, so  that  in  copying  it  he  shall  be  sure  to 


1 86  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

reproduce  the  general  type.  Thus  he  discov- 
ered Bazarof,  the  hero  of  "  Fathers  and  Sons." 
The  idea  was  given  him  by  the  chance  which 
brought  to  his  sick-bed  in  a  small  Russian  city 
the  *' young  doctor  of  the  district,"  who  served 
him  for  his  model.  I  do  not  know  whether  all 
the  characters  of  ''Virgin  Soil,"  without  excep- 
tion, passed  under  the  author's  eyes ;  but  I  have 
heard  Turgenief  tell  how  he  knew,  and  was 
able  to  study,  the  most  characteristic  personage 
of  the  story,  the  Nihilist  woman,  —  the  upright, 
solemn,  and  rather  absurd,  but  strong  and  sub- 
lime Mashurina. 

It  was  by  his  knowledge  of  the  heart  of 
women,  and  by  the  thorough-going  fascination  of 
his  heroines,  that  Turgenief  left  far  behind  him 
his  great  predecessor  Gogol.  By  an  inexplicable 
peculiarity,  the  author  of  "The  Revizor,''  of 
"Dead  Souls,"  cared  only  to  paint  women  who 
were  not  women  at  all,  who  are  lifeless  abstrac- 
tions or  caricatures.'  The  most  gossiping  biog- 
raphers are  embarrassed  to  explain  the  reason 
of  this  impotence.     All  that  can  be  said  is  that 

^  Yuliana  Betrishef  in  Dead  Souls  is  not  a  portrait :  she  is  a  lumi- 
nous apparition.  —  Author's  note. 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  187 

Gogol  dreaded  too  much  the  approach  of  woman- 
kind, ever  to  have  the  chance  to  study  the  sex. 
On  the  contrary,  Turgenief  s  heroines  are  so 
life-like,  that  under  each  portrait  his  readers 
have  tried  to  recognize  and  name  some  model. 
All  well-informed  Russians  would  have  told 
you  in  what  palace  in  Warsaw  dwelt  Irena  of 
"  Smoke,"  or  at  the  first  ofBcial  reception  would 
have  pointed  you  Mrs.  Sipiagina  of  "Virgin 
Soil."  It  certainly  seems  that  all  these  delicate 
creations  have  the  irresistible  seduction  of  real- 
ity. There  is  not  a  romance,  not  a  story,  by 
Turgenief,  in  which  there  does  not  shine  forth 
some  feminine  face,  sometimes  of  a  rather 
strange  grace,  but  singularly  lifelike  and  touch- 
ing. Natalia  and  her  sister  in  "Dmitri  Rudin," 
Liza  in  "A  Nest  of  Noblemen,"  Elena  in  "On 
the  Eve,"  Marian  in  "Virgin  Soil,"  —  it  would 
be  necessary  to  name  them  all. 

What  rather  surprises  the  French  reader  is 
not  to  find  them  always  beautiful ;  at  least,  with 
that  perfect  and  improbable  beauty  which  our 
novelists  do  not  hesitate  to  give  their  expres- 
sionless dolls.  One  has  regular  features,  a 
pretty  foot,  but  her  hands  are  too  large.     An- 


1 88  IVAA'  TURGENIEF. 

Other,  at  first  sight,  seems  ugly :  "■  She  wore 
her  thick  chestnut  hair  short,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  fretful ;  but  her  whole  person  gave  the 
impression  of  something  strong,  passionate,  and 
fiery.  Her  feet  and  her  hands  were  extremely 
dainty ;  her  little  body,  robust  and  supple,  re- 
minded one  of  the  Florentine  statuettes  of  the 
sixteenth  century ;  her  movements  were  grace- 
ful and  harmonious."  What  idealized  beauty 
would  have  this  living  grace } 

Another  singularity,  which  shows  us  to  what 
a  degree  the  author  takes  us  from  our  own  lati- 
tude :  in  him  the  women  have  less  originality 
than  the  young  girls.  The  indecision  and  fee- 
bleness found  in  their  lovers,  the  Rudins  and 
the  Nedzhanofs,  is  paralleled  by  the  resolute 
wisdom,  and  —  let  us  use  the  words  "graceful 
virility,"  in  them.  They  somewhat  resemble  the 
Roman  girls,  and  we  expect  to  hear  them  say 
in  their  way  the  '' Non  dolet''  of  the  illustrious 
Arria.  But  no ;  they  have  not  in  the  least  these 
rather  theatrical  attitudes  and  words.  It  is  the 
Nedzhanofs  who  die  like  impatient  Stoics,  or 
perhaps  like  discouraged  Epicureans  :  Marian 
continues   to  live,   and  without   bustle   to  pre- 


IVAA''  TURG^NIEF.  I  §9 

pare  for  the  freeing  of  the  country  which  she 
loves. 

Women  raised  by  noble  feeling  to  the  scorn 
of  death  are  found  elsewhere  than  in  Russia. 
What  is  more  rare,  and  almost  impossible  to 
find,  are  these  fanatical  sacrifices,  these  renun- 
ciations worthy  of  the  primitive  days  of  the 
Church,  which  associate  lovely  maidens  of  six- 
teen with  imbecile  vagabonds  eaten  up  by  hide- 
ous ulcers.  Turgenief  might  have  multiplied 
in  his  work  description  of  pathological  cases 
("  Strange  Stories  ")  ;  but  if  his  realism  is  too 
artistic  to  delay  over  what  is  commonplace,  he 
is  too  honest  to  devote  himself  to  exceptions. 

The  form  which  best  brings  out  this  sincerity 
of  expression  is  the  tale.  Turgenief  takes  little 
stock  in  dramatic  form,  at  least  in  his  own  case. 
**  I  see  a  subject,"  he  used  to  say,  "only  when  I 
have  the  framework,  the  portrait,  the  dialogues, 
the  wanderings,  of  a  narration."  In  the  drama 
he  felt  himself  bothered  by  the  necessity  of  col- 
lecting, abridging,  curtailing,  filling  in  ;  and  his 
psychology  seemed  to  him  warped,  when  pre- 
sented in  miniature.  It  is  in  vain  that  you 
brought  up  in  opposition  to  this  modest  claim 


190  IVAN   TURG^NIEF. 

the  form  of  such  and  such  of  his  stories,  which 
from  beginning  to  end  is  an  uninterrupted 
scene,  a  dramatic  dialogue. 

"  That  is  not  dramatic  dialogue,"  said  he  :  he 
was  and  had  to  remain  a  narrator. 

To  find  finished  narration,  it  is  sufficient, 
indeed,  to  open  at  hap-hazard  "The  Annals  of 
a  Huntsman."  Nothing  is  lacking;  not  char- 
acter-painting, or  lively  course  of  the  story,  or 
surprise  in  circumstances,  or  development  of 
the  situation,  or  harmony  of  outline,  or  feeling 
for  nature,  or  grace  of  style,  or  value  of  coloring. 
But  one  ought  to  have  heard  Turgenief,  and  to 
have  seen  him  in  his  character  of  story-teller, 
to  imagine  to  what  degree  all  these  qualities 
in  him  were  spontaneous.  It  was  especially  in 
this  that  his  conversation  was  unlike  any  one 
else's  :  it  translated  ideas  into  images,  and,  with- 
out any  attempt,  created  paintings  which  one 
would  never  forget. 

Does  narration  in  Turgenief  gain  by  assum- 
ing the  ampler  proportions  of  the  novel  "i  Our 
French  taste  is  open  to  suspicion,  and  I  hesi- 
tate about  replying.  Our  good  novelists  are 
such  clever  carpenters  :  they  construct  so  sym- 


'    IVAN  TURG^NTEF.  I9I 

metrically  works  so  ingeniously  arranged  for 
effect ;  the  interest  is  kept  up  with  such  skill ; 
the  action  moves  along  with  such  a  certain  step, 
towards  a  logical  result  feared  or  suspected  from 
the  very  first  word  !  We  find  ourselves  at  first 
not  quite  so  much  at  our  ease  in  these  Russian 
novels,  which  are  full  of  art,  but  are  bare  of 
little  artifices  ;  where  the  developments  are  like 
the  course  of  real  life;  where  the  characters 
hesitate,  and  sometimes  remain  still ;  where  the 
action  develops  without  haste ;  and  where  the 
author  does  not  even  think  it  important  to  come 
to  an  end.  It  is  sufficient  for  him  to  state  facts, 
and  explain  characters.  This  perfect  natural- 
ness, at  first  a  trifle  dubious,  finally  comes  to 
have  a  great  charm.  There  is  nothing  which  is 
more  able  to  make  us  reflect  on  the  puerile 
stress  which  we  lay  on  the  method,  and  on  the 
often  to-be-regretted  emptiness  of  our  novels  of 
industrious  mechanism. 

We  should  not  have  given  Turgenief  his 
just  deserts  if  we  forgot  to  praise  him  as  a  poet 
worthy  of  all  admiration.  I  mean,  as  a  poet  in 
prose;  for  Turgenief  was  no  more  successful 
than  Gogol  in  making  good  verse.    Both  of  them 


192  IVAA^  TURGJ£NIEF. 

used  a  language  that  was  picturesque,  infinitely 
expressive,  full  of  images,  and,  in  the  case  of 
Turgenief  more  than  Gogol,  of  perfect  purity 
and  the  greatest  variety.  He  feels  all  the 
beauties  of  nature,  and  expresses  them  with 
powerful  originality,  or  a  delicate  charm  which 
shines  through  even  the  rather  thick  veil  of 
translations.  And  yet  what  shadings  escape 
us,  what  graces  are  lost  for  us  ! 

The  Russian  language  has  infinite  resources. 
If  it  is  less  exact  in  expressing  the  relations 
of  action  and  of  time,  it  brings  out  the  most 
imperceptible  circumstances  of  action.  It  out- 
lines with  less  clearness :  it  paints  with  incred- 
ible richness  of  coloring.  It  is  easy  to  under- 
stand what  effects  a  writer  who  can  see  and  can 
express  —  a  poet,  in  a  word  —  is  able  to  make 
with  it.  Turgenief's  descriptions  threw  Meri- 
mee  into  despair.  One  day,  when  he  was  trying 
to  put  into  French  a  passage  where  the  author 
had  represented  the  peculiar  sound  of  the  rain 
falling  on  a  sheet  of  water,  the  French  words 
gresillement  froid  (cold  shrivelling),  destined  to 
translate  this  inexpressible  noise,  caused  the 
author  of  "  Colomba  "  to  hesitate.     "  Yet  that 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  193 

is  it,"  said  he,  thinking  better  of  it;  "and  the 
thing  must  be  said,  or  lose  the  bit  of  observa- 
tion, which  is  perfectly  true  to  nature.  The 
Devil  take  the  pedants !  Let  us  leave  the 
phrase." 

How  far  this  poetic  realism  is  from  our  flat 
and  tiresome  enumerations  of  details  heaped  up 
without  selection  !  But  the  parallel  between 
the  Russian  realists  and  the  French  realists,  to 
which  this  subject  constantly  attracts  us,  would 
carry  us  too  far.  It  is  sufficient  to  point  out 
the  essential  difference.  Observation  in  our 
realists  is  systematic  and  cold ;  in  the  Rus- 
sians, and,  above  all,  in  Turgdnief,  it  is  always 
natural,  and  generally  passionate.  There  is  not 
a  novel  by  Turgenief  where  the  pathetic  has 
not  a  large  part ;  and  sometimes  this  pathos, 
by  the  simplest  means,  reaches  heights  neigh- 
boring upon  the  sublime. 

I  shall  only  quote  one  example  of  it,  taken 
from  "  Fathers  and  Sons  ; "  and  I  have  no  fear 
that  the  reader  will  charge  me  with  bad  taste 
in  cutting  out  this  admirable  scene  from  this 
novel,  extended  as  it  is :  — 

"  Although    Bazarof    pronounced   these   last 


194  IVAN  turg£nief. 

words  with  a  rather  resolute  expression,  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  tell  his  father  of  his 
departure  until  they  were  in  the  library,  just  as 
he  was  going  to  bid  him  good-night.  He  said, 
with  a  forced  yawn,  — 

"*Wait  a  moment.  I  almost  forgot  to  let 
you  know.  It  will  be  necessary  to  send  our 
horses  to  Fyodot  to-morrow  for  the  relay.* 

"Vasili  Ivanovitch  stood  stupefied. 

** '  Is  Kirsanof  going  to  leave  us .? '  he  asked 
at  last. 

"  *  Yes,  and  I  am  going  with  him.* 

**Vasili  Ivanovitch  fell  back  stupefied. 

**  *  You  are  going  to  leave  us  ! ' 

** '  Yes,  I  have  business,  Have  the  kindness 
to  send  the  horses.' 

"  *  Very  well,'  stammered  the  old  man,  *for 
the  relay.  Very  good,  —  only  —  only  —  is  it 
possible } ' 

"  *  I  must  go  to  Kirsanof's  for  a  few  days.  I 
shall  come  right  back.' 

"  'Yes,  for  several  days.     Very  well.' 

*'Vas{li  Ivanovitch  took  out  his  handkerchief, 
and  blew  his  nose,  bending  over  till  he  almost 
touched  the  floor. 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  IQj 

'' '  Well,  be  it  so.  It  shall  be  done.  But  I 
thought  that  you  —  longer.  Three  days  — 
after  three  years  of  absence.  It  isn't  —  it  isn't 
very  long,  Yevgdni.* 

*'*!  just  told  you  that  I  would  come  right 
back.     I  must  ! ' 

"  *  You  must  t  Very  well :  before  all  things, 
one  must  do  his  duty.  You  want  me  to  send 
the  horses  ?  Very  well ;  but  we  did  not  expect 
this,  Arina  and  I.  She  just  went  to  ask  a 
neighbor  for  some  flowers  to  put  in  your 
room.' 

"Vasfli  Ivanovitch  did  not  add  that  every 
morning  at  daybreak,  in  bare  feet  in  his  slip- 
pers, he  went  to  find  Timofeitch,  handing  him 
a  torn  bill,  which  he  picked  out  from  the  bot- 
tom of  his  pocket-book  with  trembling  fingers. 
This  bill  was  designed  for  the  purchase  of  dif- 
ferent provisions,  principally  food  and  red  wine, 
great  quantities  of  which  the  young  men  con- 
sumed. 

'* '  There  is  nothing  more  precious  than  lib- 
erty ;  that's  my  principle.  It  is  not  well  to 
hinder  people.     One  should  not '  — 

"  Vasfli  suddenly  stopped,  and  started  for  the 
door. 


19^  IVAN  TURG^NIEF, 

"  '  We  shall  see  each  other  soon  again,  father, 
I  promise  you.' 

"  But  Vasili  Ivanovitch  did  not  return.  He 
left  the  room,  making  a  gesture  with  his  hand. 
Coming  into  his  bed-chamber,  he  found  his 
wife  already  asleep ;  and  he  began  to  pray  in 
a  low  voice,  so  as  not  to  disturb  her  slumber. 
However,  she  waked  up. 

"  '■  Is  it  you,  Vasili  Ivanovitch  1 '  she  asked. 

"■  *  Yes,  my  dear.' 

"*You  have  just  left  Yeniushka.?  I  am 
afraid  that  he  is  not  comfortable  sleeping  on 
the  sofa.  Yet  I  told  Anfisushka  to  give  him 
your  field-mattress  and  the  two  new  cushions. 
I  would  have  given  him  our  feather-bed  too, 
but  I  think  I  remember  that  he  does  not  like 
to  sleep  too  easy.' 

"*  That's  no  matter,  my  dear ;  don't  trouble 
yourself.  He  is  comfortable.  —  Lord,  have  pity 
on  us  sinners,*  he  added,  continuing  his  prayer. 
Vasili  Ivanovitch  did  not  talk  long.  He  did 
not  wish  to  announce  the  tidings  that  would 
have  broken  his  poor  wife's  rest. 

"The  two  young  men  took  their  departure 
the  next  morning.     Every  thing  in  the  house, 


IVAN  TURGENIEF.  197 

from  early  that  morning,  assumed  a  sad  aspect. 
Anfisushka  let  fall  the  plate  that  she  was  carry- 
ing ;  Fyedka  himself  was  entirely  upset,  and 
finally  left  his  boots.  Vasili  Ivanovitch  moved 
about  more  than  ever.  He  tried  hard  to  hide 
his  disappointment ;  he  spoke  very  loud,  and 
walked  noisily  :  but  his  face  was  hollow,  and 
his  eyes  seemed  always  to  avoid  his  son.  Arina 
Vlasievna  wept  silently.  She  would  have  en- 
tirely lost  her  self-control  if  her  husband  had 
not  given  her  a  long  lecture  in  the  morning. 
When  Bazarof,  after  having  repeated  again  and 
again  that  he  would  come  back  before  a  month 
was  over,  finally  tore  himself  from  the  arms 
that  held  him  back,  and  sat  down  in  the  taran- 
tds  ;  when  the  horses  started,  and  the  jingling 
of  the  bells  was  mingled  with  the  rumbling  of 
the  wheels  ;  when  it  was  no  use  to  look  any 
longer ;  when  the  dust  was  entirely  settled,  and 
Timofeitch,  bent  double,  had  gone  staggering 
back  to  his  lodging ;  when  the  two  old  people 
found  themselves  once  more  alone  in  their 
house,  which  seemed  also  to  have  become 
smaller  and  older,  .  .  .  Vasfli  Ivanovitch,  who 
but    a  few   moments    before    was    waving   his 


igS  IVAN  TURG^NJEF. 

handkerchief  so  proudly  from  the  steps,  threw 
himself  into  a  chair,  and  hung  his  head  on  his 
breast.  '  He  has  left  us,'  he  said  with  a  trem- 
bling voice,  —  'left  us  !  He  found  it  lonesome 
with  us.  Now  I  am  alone,  alone,'  he  repeated 
again  and  again,  lifting  each  time  the  forefinger 
of  his  right  hand.*  Arina  Vlasievna  drew  near 
him,  and,  leaning  her  white  head  on  the  old 
man's  white  head,  she  said,  *  What's  to  be 
done  about  it,  Vasili }  A  son  is  like  a  shred 
torn  off.  He  is  a  young  hawk  :  it  pleases  him 
to  come,  and  he  comes ;  it  pleases  him  to  go, 
and  he  flies  away.  And  you  and  I  are  like  little 
mushrooms  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree :  placed  be- 
side each  other,  we  stay  there  always.  I  alone 
do  not  change  for  thee,  just  as  thou  dost  not 
change  for  thy  old  wife,' 

"Vasili  lifted  his  face,  which  he  had  hidden 
in  his  hands,  and  embraced  his  companion  more 
tenderly  than  he  had  ever  done,  even  in  his 
youth.  She  had  consoled  him  in  his  disap- 
pointment." 

Were  we  not  right  in  speaking  here  of  the 

*  A  Russian  proverb  says,  "Alone  as  a  Unger. "  —Trans/aior's 
note,  quoted  by  author. 


IVAN  TURG^NIEF.  199 

pathetic,  and  was  it  not  well  that  we  drew  the 
reader's  attention  to  this  good  old  word  ?  It 
expresses  an  old  idea,  which,  with  no  offence 
to  the  lovers  of  the  commonplace,  is  not  yet 
ready  to  perish.  It  is  the  mistake  of  the 
French  realists,^  to  take  coolness  for  strength, 
and  they  claim  to  be  considered  very  strong 
men.  Turgenief  s  great  superiority  consists  in 
his  having  no  pretension,  not  even  to  be  trivial 
and  common.  He  does  not  make  it  a  matter 
of  pride  to  stay  on  the  hither  side  of  the  truth. 

*  It  is  only  just  to  make  exception  in  favor  of  Alfonse  Daudet. 
His  talent  is  largely  made  up  of  sentiment,  and  even  of  sentimen- 
tality. —  Author's  note. 


200  IVAN  TURGENIEF. 


V. 

In  this  study  of  Turgenief,  I  do  not  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  pointed  out  all  the  aspects 
of  a  character  so  varied,  — that  I  have  shown  all 
the  traits  of  a  nature  so  complex.  Yet  it  would 
be  a  serious  lack  if  I  did  not  explain  Turgeniefs 
relationship  to  the  writers  of  his  country,  or  if 
I  neglected  the  great  number  of  criticisms 
which  he  has  passed,  in  his  letters  to  his 
friends,  in  regard  to  the  literary  movement 
of  the  last  thirty  years. 

He  characterizes  the  epoch  to  which  he  be- 
longs. It  is  still,  in  his  opinion,  an  epoch  "of 
transition."  He  deplores  the  lack  of  union, 
the  want  of  solidarity,  in  the  men  who  in 
Russia  hold  this  weapon,  —  the  pen  ;  and  who 
might,  by  concentrating  their  efforts,  triumph 
over  so  many  obstacles  against  which,  in  their 
isolation,    they  run    a-muck   and   bruise   them- 


IVAN  TURGENIEF,  20I 

selves.  "  Each  one  sings  his  own  song,  and 
follows  his  lonely  path." 

He  speaks  without  too  much  feeling  about 
his  enemies,  unless  he  finds  a  settled  aversion 
for  their  work,  and  for  their  conception  of  art. 
**  I  am  sorry  for  Tchernuishevsky's  dryness,  his 
tendency  to  crudeness,  his  unceremonious  treat- 
ment of  living  writers ;  but  I  find  nothing  in  him 
corpse-like.  I  see  a  living  fountain  spouting" 
To  be  sure,  he  has  little  to  praise  in  the  man 
of  whom  he  thus  speaks  ;  but  malice,  arising 
from  personal  attacks,  could  not  draw  him  far 
from  the  truth.  "  These  are  spring  waters," 
said  he  in  regard  to  certain  injurious  writings 
directed  against  him.  "  They  will  run  off,  and 
no  trace  of  them  will  be  left." 

It  is  not  the  same  with  him  when  teachings 
wound  him,  and  when  the  literary  form  disgusts 
him.  After  having  loved  Nekrasof,  he  goes  so 
far  as  no  longer  to  recognize  any  talent  in  him, 
so  shocked,  so  disgusted,  is  he  by  his  inten- 
tional brutalities.  His  verses  "  leave  behind 
them  an  after-taste  which  makes  me  nause- 
ated." "  What  a  son  of  a  dog ! "  he  says  in 
another  place.     "  He  is  a  vulture,  ravening  and 


202  IVAN-  turg:^nief. 

gorging."  But  Nekrasof  '  died  before  him  ;  and 
he  modifies,  he  explains  the  judgment  which 
he  had  passed  upon  him.  "No  matter  if  the 
young  have  been  infatuated  with  him,  this  has 
done  no  harm.  The  chords  set  .in  vibration  by 
his  poetry  (if  you  can  give  the  name  of  poetry 
to  what  he  wrote)  are  good  chords.     But  when 

St.  ,  addressing  these  young  people,  tells 

tl^em  that  they  are  right  in  placing  Nekrasof 
above  Pushkin  and  Lermontof,^  and  tells  them 
so  with  an  imperturbable  smile,  I  find  it  hard 
to  restrain  my  indignation,  and  I  repeat  the 
lines  of  Schiller  :  — 

*  I  have  seen  splendid  crowns  of  glory  woven  for  most 
common  brows.'  " 

His  early  sympathy  for  the  novelist  Dosto- 
yevsky  ^  was  soon  changed  to  dislike,  owing  to 

^  Nikolai  Alekseyevitch  Nekrasof,  born  in  December,  1821,  editor 
of  the  Sovrcmennik  from  1847  till  1866.  Afterwards,  when  the  Sovre- 
mennik  was  suppressed,  he  edited  the  Otetchestvennui  Zapiski  till 
his  death,  which  took  place  in  January,  1877.  He  was  eminently 
Russia's  popular  poet.  —  N.  H.  D. 

2  Mikhail  Yuryevitch  Lermontof,  the  author  of  the  great  poem 
Demon,  and  other  verses  inspired  by  the  Caucasus,  was  born  in  1814, 
and  died  in  184 1. 

3  Feddor  Mikhailovitch  Dostoyevsky  was  born  in  1822  in  Mos- 
cow, and  died  in  March,  1881.     His  life  reads  like  a  romance.     For  a 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  203 

their  differences  of  opinion.  The  sharp  fea- 
tures in  the  character  of  the  author  of  "  Crime 
and  Punishment "  were  not  slow  to  disgust 
Turg^nief.  He  could  not  be  brought  back  by 
the  reading  of  works,  the  clearly  marked  tend- 
ency of  which  is  sometimes  to  put  a  check 
upon  his  own.  He  was  not  sparing  of  admira- 
tion for  the  **  Recollections  of  a  Dead  House." 
"  The  picture  of  the  bajiya  (bath)  is  really 
worthy  of  Dante.  In  the  character  of  the  vari- 
ous people  (that  of  Petrof,  for  example),  there  is 
much  fine  and  true  psychology." 

But  when  Dostoyevsky's  faults  grow  more 
pronounced ;  when  his  qualities  become  extrav- 
agant, and  themselves  turn  to  mannerisms ; 
when  this  keenness,  once  so  fine  and  delicate, 
loses  itself  in  subtleties ;  when  the  writer's 
sensitiveness  changes  into  supersensitiveness ; 
when  his  imagination  goes  beyond  the  bounds  of 
reason,  and  gloats  over  the  pursuit  of  the  hor- 
rible,—  Turgenief  does  not  hide  his  disgust,  his 
scorn.     "  God,  what  a  sour  smell !     What  a  vile 

short  sketch  of  it,  and  also  for  the  translation  of  the  scene  from  his 
Zapiski  iz  Mertvava  Doma,  so  praised  by  Turgenief,  see  appendix. 
-  N.  H.  D. 


204  IVAN  TURG&NIEF. 

hospital    odor !     What    idle    scandal !     What  a 
psychological  mole-hole ! "  ^ 

Turgenief  prefers  as  he  debars,  he  loves  as 
he  detests;  that  is  to  say,  with  a  passion  which 
is  contagious,  and  carries  the  reader  with  him. 
One  should  see  with  what  pleasure  he  receives 
the  works  of  the  satirist  Soltuikof,  better  known 
and  more  appreciated  under  the  nom  de  guerre 
of  Shchedrin.  What  a  feast  it  was  for  him, 
when  a  new  "  Letter  to  my  Aunt "  appeared  ! 
With  what  joy  he  applauded  its  satirical  fea- 
tures which  were  "powerful  even  to  gayety"! 
Soltuikof  seems  disturbed  at  the  flood  of  hatred 
which  he  stirs  up.  "  If  you  only  had  a  title  of 
hereditary  nobility,  nothing  of  the  sort  would 

^  A  brilliant  Russian  lady,  now  in  this  country,  writes  to  the  trans- 
lator as  follows :  "  I  am  glad  indeed  that  you  escaped  the  transla- 
tion of  *  Crime  and  Punishment.'  You  would  never  find  any  readers 
for  such  a  book  in  this  country.  I  could  never  read  any  of  Dosto- 
yevsky's  books  through.  It  made  me  sick.  My  nerves  could  not  bear 
the  strain  on  them.  I  don't  believe  in  pathology  in  literature.  And 
yet  another  of  my  American  acquaintances,  who  is  thoroughly  versed 
in  Russian,  .  .  .  tried  to  translate  'Crime  and  Punishment,'  but  had 
not  time  to  do  it.  He  says  he  never  read,  in  any  language,  any  thing 
so  powerful  as  Prestuplenie  i  Nahazmiie.  Generally  speaking,  your 
countrymen  have  too  healthy  a  constitution  to  appreciate  such  a  novel. 
Let  it  turn  heads  among  the  pessimists  in  France  and  Russia,  the 
natives  of  effete  Europe."  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF,  205 

have  happened  to  you.  But  you  are  Soltuikof- 
Shchedrin,  a  writer  to  whom  it  will  have  been 
given  to  leave  a  deep  and  permanent  impress 
on  our  literature :  then  you  will  be  hated,  and 
you  will  be  loved  also ;  that  only  depends  on  the 
person." 

The  most  striking  example  of  this  generosity 
of  Turgenief's  is  shown  us  by  the  spectacle  of 
his  relation*  with  his  great  rival  Tolstof.  From 
the  moment  when  Tolstoi's  first  book  appeared, 
Turgenief,  already  famous,  distinguishes  the 
young  author,  welcomes  him  as  a  new  star,  and 
feels  impelled  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  love 
him.  "  My  heart  goes  out  to  you  as  towards 
a  brother."  ''  Childhood  and  Youth  "  appear. 
Turgenief's  admiration  is  expressed  in  this  fash- 
ion :  "  When  this  young  wine  shall  have  fin- 
ished fermenting,  there  will  come  forth  a  drink 
worthy  of  the  gods." 

Life  separates  them ;  the  most  diverse  mental 
tendencies  still  further  increase  this  separation. 
There  is  even,  at  one  time,  an  inopportune 
meeting,  conflict,  violent  rupture,  almost  tragic, 
since  a  duel  narrowly  escaped  being  the  result. 
There   are   noticeable  in  Turgenief,  from  that 


206  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

moment,  movements  of  vexation.  The  admira- 
tion which  he  was  the  first  to  arouse  in  Tol- 
stoi's favor  turns,  becomes  fashionable,  and  goes 
to  commonplace  unreason  :  still  he  continues 
to  be  glad  that  "  War  and  Peace  "  is  praised  to 
the  skies  ;  "  but  it  is  by  its  most  dubious  merits 
that  the  public  want  to  regard  it  as  unequalled." 
In  his  opinion,  there  are  not  such  good  reasons 
for  falling  into  ecstasies  about  "Anna  Kare- 
nina."  *'  Tolstoif  this  time  has  taken  the  wrong 
track;  and  that  is  due  to  the  influence  of  Mos- 
cow, of  the  Slavophile  nobility,  of  orthodox  old 
maids,  to  the  isolation  in  which  the  author 
lives,  to  the  impossibility  of  finding  in  Russia 
the  requisite  degree  of  artistic  liberty." 

But  excessive  strictures  are  rare  in  him  ;  and 
how  richly  they  are  compensated  by  the  gener- 
ous crusade,  which,  from  the  year  1878,  Tur- 
genief  undertakes  for  the  sake  of  popularizing 
Tolstoi'  in  France,  and  of  building  him  a  pedes- 
tal which  at  the  present  time  threatens  to  rise 
higher  than  his  own !  If,  unfortunately  for 
French  readers,  a  "  Russian  lady  "  had  not  got 
ahead  of  him,  he  would  have  translated  the 
masterpiece   which   he   liked    the    best,   which 


IVAN^  TURGENIEF.  207 

seemed  to  him  to  give  the  highest  idea  of  Tol- 
stoi's great  powers,  —  "  The  Cossacks." 

In  last  resort,  he  contents  himself  with  the 
most  active  propaganda  in  favor  of  another 
translation,  that  of  "War  and  Peace."  His 
correspondence  shows  him  to  us,  going  about 
carrying  the  book  to  Flaubert,  to  Taine,  to 
Edmond  About,  to  those  who  are  capable  of 
enjoying  this  foreign  dish  without  further 
advice.  He  hopes  that  their  articles  will  en- 
lighten those  who  need  to  be  told  in  order  to 
get  the  taste  of  it.  His  illness  alone  turns  him 
away  from  this  occupation  which  I  have  no 
need  of  qualifying :  it  is  too  characteristic. 

At  the  hour  of  death,  Turg^niefs  last  thought 
turns  to  TolstoY.  I  beg  the  reader  to  go  back 
to  that  admirable  letter,  to  that  short  literary 
will,  in  which  the  dying  author  salutes,  and  calls 
back  to  the  arena  from  which  he  is  just  depart- 
ing, his  great  rival  in  talent  and  in  glory. 

It  would  be  very  strange,  if  having  lived  long 
in  France,  and  having  made  precious  literary 
friendships,  Turgenief  had  not  mentioned  names 
particularly  interesting  for  French  readers.  He 
speaks  much  in  his  letters  of  the  contempora- 


208  IVAN  turg£nief. 

neous  realistic  school,  and  he  judges  it  favora- 
bly, especially  at  its  first  beginning.  He  does 
more  than  enjoy  the  Gon courts  and  Zolas.  He 
makes  arrangements  for  them  with  the  direct- 
ors of  Russian  journals  or  reviews ;  he  endeav- 
ors to  have  one  or  two  thousands  of  francs  more 
paid  for  their  manuscripts,  by  giving  them  to 
be  translated  into  Russian  before  they  are  pub- 
lished in  France. 

Especially  for  Zola  did  he  use  his  mediatorial 
influence.  He  seems  very  happy  to  help  him  ; 
nevertheless,  he  does  not  fail  to  note  with  his 
delicate  and  imperceptible  irony  certain  amus- 
ing traits  of  character.  "As  far  as  Zola  is 
concerned,  you  told  me  that  you  would  pay 
more  for  his  manuscript  than  Stasulevitch.  I 
have  informed  Zola.  .  .  .  His  teeth  have  taken 
fire  at  it."  "  In  his  last  visit  to  Paris,  Stasu- 
levitch, having  made  Zola's  acquaintance,  gilded 
him  from  head  to  foot,  on  the  one  condition 
that  Zola  should  belong  to  him  alone.  So  the 
European  messenger  ( Vyestnik  Yev7'opui)  seems 
in  Zola's  eyes  like  the  fabulous  hen  with  the 
golden  eggs,  which  he  must  guard  like  the 
apple  of  his  eye." 


IVAN  TURGENIEF.  209 

The  friendship,  made  0^  admiration  and 
sympathy,  between  Turg^nief  and  Flaubert,  is 
well  known.  It  is  painted  in  Turgenief's  letters 
in  truly  expressive  lines :  "  I  have  translated  one 
of  Gustave  Flaubert's  stories.  It  is  not  long, 
but  of  incomparable  beauty.  It  will  appear  in 
the  April  number  of  'The  European  Messenger.' 
Perhaps  two  translations  of  it  will  appear.  I 
recommend  it  to  you  in  advance.  I  have  en- 
deavored, so  far  as  in  me  lay,  to  reproduce  the 
colors  and  tone  of  the  original."  Flaubert 
dies.  Turgenief  is  so  moved  that  he  breaks 
with  all  his  habits.  He,  so  sober,  so  disliking 
noise,  wire-pulling,  puffing,  puts  himself  at  the 
head  of  a  demonstration  in  the  Russian  journals  ; 
and  he  opens  a  subscription  for  a  monument  to 
his  friend.  He  speaks  with  genuine  disgust  of 
the  low  interpretations  to  which  this  interven-" 
tion  on  his  part  gave  rise.  His  enemies  affect- 
ed to  see  in  this  something  like  the  return  of 
an  old  actor,  who  had  left  the  stage,  and  was 
tormented  by  yearning  for  the  scenes. 

It  would  not  be  well  to  dwell  too  strongly  on 
Turgenief's  judgment  in  regard  to  Victor  Hugo. 
Turgdnief  was  a  true  poet,  but  when  he  wrote 


210  IVAN  TURG^NIEF. 

in  verse  he  never#"ose  above  mediocrity.  He 
knew  it,  and  he  criticised  this  part  of  his  work 
very  severely.  The  quality  of  his  verses  is 
explained  better  when  it  is  seen  how  narrowly 
and  unfairly  he  judges  La  Legcnde  des  Siecles, 
The  epic  grandeur  and  originality  of  this  work 
escape  him  :  its  swing  is  too  powerful,  and  it 
wearies  him ;  its  brilliancy  is  too  intense,  and 
it  blinds  him.  He  judges  Victor  Hugo  as  a 
poet  of  thirty  years  ago  —  Pushkin,  if  he  had 
come  to  life  —  might  have  done:  he  did  not 
much  rise  above  the  Byronian  horizon.^ 

He  is,  however,  more  just  towards  Swin- 
burne, the  English  Hugo.-  But  here,  again,  his 
criticism  is  superficial  :  favorable  as  it  is,  one 
can  see  that  he  has  not  had  time  to  find  his 
reasons,  and  touch  bottom. 

The  critical  faculty  is  evidently  less  keen 
in  Turgenief   than  in  others  of  his  friends, — 

^  This  explains,  perhaps,  why  he  did  not  appreciate  Nekrdsof. 
Indeed,  Turgenief,  though  his  literary  judgments  are  always  inter- 
esting, must  be  taken  with  a  grain  of  salt :  like  a  true  poet,  he  was 
not  a  critic.  On  the  other  hand,  Tchernuishevsky,  whose  critical 
judgments  Turgenief  affected  to  despise,  was  a  born  critic,  and  his 
literary  prognostications  were  greatly  in  advance  of  his  time.  See 
Appendix.  —  N.  H.  D. 


IVAN  TURG£NIEF.  211 

Sbchedrin,  for  example.  He  it  was  who  caused 
the  scales  to  fall  from  Turgenief's  eyes,  and 
revealed  for  him  what  he  himself  felt  some- 
what confusedly  as  to  the  often  artificial  and 
conventional  character  of  our  realists.  "  I 
would  have  kissed  you  with  delight,  ...  to 
such  a  degree  what  you  say  about  the  romances 
of  Goncourt  and  Zola  hits  the  case,  and  is  true. 
As  for  me,  it  seemed  so  confusedly,  as  though 
I  had  a  heavy  feeling  over  the  epigastrium.  I 
have  just  this  moment  uttered  the  Akh  I  of 
relief,  and  seen  clearly.  ...  It  cannot  be  said 
that  they  have  not  talent,  but  they  do  not 
follow  the  right  way :  they  are  already  in- 
venting too  much.  Their  literature  smacks 
of  literature,  and  that  is  bad." 

Although  he  was  warned,  Turgenief  was  not 
the  man  to  wish  to  put  others  on  the  lookout. 
The  success  of  another  did  not  fill  him  with  any 
envy.  On  the  other  hand,  the  disappointment 
of  those  who  were  dear  to  him  caused  him  real 
pain.  After  the  failure  of  one  of  George  Sand's 
dramas,  he  wrote  this  charming  word :  **  If  I 
had  met  her,  I  should  not  have  said  any  thing 
of  \}[i^  fiasco  of  her  poor  piece  :  like  a  respectful 


212  n^AJV  TURG^NIEF. 

son  of  Noah,  I  turn  away  my  eyes,  and  hide  the 
nakedness  of  my  grandam." 

He  had  recovered  from  his  boyish  enthu- 
siasm for  the  work  of  the  illustrious  novelist. 
"  I  cannot  any  longer  hold  by  George  Sand,  any 
more  than  by  Schiller,"  he  wrote  in  1856.  But 
in  place  of  admiration  for  the  diminished  and 
collapsed  merits  of  the  writer,  there  was  sub- 
stituted, especially  in  latter  years,  a  touching 
worship  for  the  truly  virile  virtues  of  the 
woman. 

This  is  the  way  he  speaks  of  her,  on  the  day 
of  her  death,  in  a  letter  meant  for  publication  : 
*'  It  was  impossible  to  enter  into  the  circle  of 
her  private  life,  and  not  become  her  adorer  in 
another  sense,  and  perhaps  in  a  better  sense. 
Every  one  felt  immediately  that  he  was  in 
presence  of  an  infinitely  generous  and  benevo- 
lent nature,  in  which  all  the  egotism  had  been 
long  and  thoroughly  burned  away  by  the  ever- 
ardent  flame  of  poetic  enthusiasm  and  faith  in 
the  ideal ;  a  nature  to  which  all  that  was  human 
became  accessible  and  dear,  and  from  which 
exhaled,  as  it  were  a  breath  of  cordiality,  of 
friendliness,  and  above  all  that,  an  unconscious 


^' 


IVAN   TURG^NIEF.  213 

aureole,  something  sublime,  free,  heroic.  Be- 
lieve me,  George  Sand  is  one  of  our  saints." 
We  cannot  better  finish  this  review  of  names 
loved  by  Turgenief  than  by  letting  the  reader 
rest  on  this  luminous  portrait  of  George  Sand. 
In  the  virtues  which  Turgenief  ascribed  to  her, 
is  it  not  allowed  us  to  find  many  of  his  own  t 


LYOF  N.  TOLSTOI. 


LYOF    TOLSTOI. 
I. 

Count  L.  N.  Tolstoi  was  born  on  the  28th 
of  August,  1828  (O.S.),  at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  a 
village  near  Tula,  in  the  Government  of  Tula. 
He  reckons  among  his  direct  ancestors  one  of 
the  best  servitors  of  the  Tsar  Peter  the  Great, 
Count  Piotr  Tolstoi.  Early  left  an  orphan,  he 
studied  at  the  University  of  Kazan,  entered 
successively  the  departments  of  Oriental  lan- 
guages and  of  law,  got  tired  of  both,  left  the 
university,  returned  to  his  paternal  estate,  and 
one  fine  day  set  out  for  the  Caucasus,  where 
his  eldest  brother,  Nikolai'  TolstoT,  was  serving 
with  the  rank  of  captain.  He  quickly  became 
an  officer,  took  part  in  the  guerilla  warfare  in 
Circassia,  returned  to  be  shut  up  in  Sevast6pol, 
underwent  the  siege,  was  greatly  distinguished 
by  his  bravery,  and  resigned  at  the  conclusion 

of  peace. 

215 


2l6  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

Count  Lyof  Tolstoi's  works  have  not  been 
all  published  in  the  order  in  which  they  were 
written.  "  The  Cossacks,"  published  after  the 
"  Military  Scenes/'  and  after  "  Childhood  and 
Youth,"  it  seems  was  written,  in  part,  during 
his  stay  in  the  Caucasus.  The  romantic  por- 
tion of  the  work  may  have  been  thought  out 
towards  the  period  when  the  book  appeared, 
but  the  impressions  which  fill  the  book  are  the 
first  which  the  writer  took  pains  to  note  down. 
It  is  well  to  emphasize  this  fact  from  the  very 
first  moment :  in  the  study  of  Tolstofs  works, 
we  can  make  it  a  starting-point  in  our  inves- 
tigation of  the  steps  traced  in  the  evolution 
accomplished  by  his  mind. 

The  "Military  Sketches,"  collected  into  a 
volume  in  1856,  were  produced  in  the  form  of 
articles  in  the  Sovreinennik  (**  The  Contem- 
porary ").  These  tales  bear  the  following  sub- 
titles :  "  Sevastopol  in  December,"  "  Sevasto- 
pol in  May,"  "The  Felling  of  the  Forest," 
"The  Incursion."  They  paint  at  once  the 
energy  with  which  the  French  invasion  was 
resisted,  and  the  monotony  of  the  siege,  more 
terrible  than  its  dangers.     The  book  narrowly 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  21/ 

escaped  remaining  in  the  censor's  hands :  this 
suspicious  and  petty  critic  was  offended  by  the 
most  beautiful  pages.  There  is,  for  example, 
an  admirable  passage  where  the  soldiers,  in 
order  to  escape  the  irksomeness  whereby  they 
have  been  overcome  in  the  long  days,  listen 
with  truly  infantile  excitement  to  the  reading 
of  fairy-stories.  According  to  the  censor's 
opinion,  it  was  a  bad  example.  The  author 
should  have  depicted  the  soldiers  as,  engaged 
in  reading  some  serious  work,  capable  of  exert- 
ing a  good  influence  on  their  moral  state,  on 
their  spirit  of  discipline.  "The  attention  of 
the  army  should  be  called  only  to  useful  litera- 
ture." Fortunately  the  book  escaped  this  roll- 
ing-mill, and  roused  the  Russian  public  to 
enthusiasm. 

As  regards  this  album  of  impressions  noted 
with  incomparable  vivacity  of  observation, 
vigor  of  tone,  and  energy  of  touch.  Count 
Lyof  Tolstor  gave  another  example,  which  is 
like  a  first  confession,  in  his  "  Childhood  and 
Youth."  The  material  of  this  biography  is 
family  life  brought  into  the  exact  environment 
which  the  Russian  nature,  when  very  closely 


21 8  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

observed  and  very  poetically  described,  can 
furnish.  On  one  side  external  impressions, 
very  accurately  and  very  powerfully  retained ; 
on  the  other,  profound  reflections  upon  self, 
and  a  very  keen  view  in  regard  to  the  most 
secret  and  the  least  explored  regions  of  con- 
sciousness :  these  are  the  two  sides  of  Tol- 
stoi's talent ;  these,  from  the  very  beginning 
of  his  literary  career,  are  the  two  elements 
which  wiU  combine  to  form  the  great  novels 
of  the  writer's  maturity,  "  War  and  Peace  "  and 
"Anna  Karenina." 

These  masterpieces  having  been  once  fin- 
ished, TolstoT  turned  aside  from  fiction  to  apply 
himself  to  pedagogy.  The  great  painter  of  men 
becomes  the  instructor  of  children  ;  the  creator 
of  heroes  undertakes  the  mission  of  populariz- 
ing the  alphabet. 

At  the  present  time  we  see  him  passing 
through  a  new  transformation,  and  from  peda- 
gogue becoming  preacher.  He  propagates  a 
new  dogma ;  or,  rather,  he  is  on  his  way  to 
increase  the  number  of  Russian  sectaries  who 
seek  in  the  Gospels  a  solution  of  the  social 
problem. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  219 

Soldier,  literarian,  agriculturist,  popular  edu- 
cator, and  prophet  of  a  new  religion,  —  Count 
Lyof  Tolstof  has  been  all  these  in  succession. 
But  the  secret  of  these  transformations  is  no 
longer  far  to  seek :  he  has  explained  it  to  us  in 
his  latest  work,  entitled  "My  Confession,"  the 
publication  of  which  has  been  forbidden  in  Rus- 
sia by  the  ecclesiastical  censor.  The  work  is 
read  in  spite  of  the  interdiction,  and  it  makes 
converts ;  copies  are  hawked  about ;  it  will  not 
be  slow  in  following  the  fortunes  of  "My  Reli- 
gion : "  it  will  be  printed  abroad  in  some  sheet 
edited  by  exiles,  and  will  be  translated,  doubt- 
less, in  France. 

Let  us  find  in  this  "Confession"  the  com- 
mentary on  the  strange  existence  which  we 
have  sketched  only  in  broad  lines. 

Every  man  has,  so  to  speak,  a  moral  physi- 
ognomy ;  and  this  physiognomy,  like  the  face 
itself,  is  more  or  less  characteristic.  In  Count 
Lyof  Tolstof,  this  characteristic  is  the  need  of 
a  fixed  principle,  of  a  well-established  rule 
of  conduct.  This  principle  has  changed,  and 
more  than  once  changed,  the  formula  which 
expresses  the  sum    of   his   acts,  and   explains 


220  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

them,  justifies  them,  which  becomes  enlarged, 
transformed,  entirely  reversed ;  but  what  re- 
mains immutable  is  his  attachment  to  some 
formula,  his  absorption  in  the  article  of  faith. 
Count  Tolstor's  soul  is,  before  all  things,  the 
soul  of  a  believer. 

He  begins  by  believing  in  the  ego.  He 
started  with  a  sort  of  Darwinian  conception  of 
the  world,  of  the  struggle  of  individuals,  with 
the  conflict  of  egoisms.  For  TolstoT,  the  ideal 
at  this  first  period  of  his  life  was  individual 
progress.  The  aim  of  existence  was  to  get 
above  other  individuals,  and  to  subjugate  them 
in  some  degree  by  his  own  superiority.  "I 
tried  at  first  to  cultivate  the  will  in  me ;  I  laid 
down  rules  which  I  compelled  myself  to  fol- 
low. Physically  I  strove  towards  perfection 
by  developing,  with  all  sorts  of  exercises,  my 
strength  and  my  skill,  and  by  wonting  myself 
by  privations  of  every  sort,  to  be  neither 
wearied  nor  disheartened  by  any  thing."  He 
pitilessly  analyzes  the  feelings  which  he  had 
at  this  time ;  after  the  fashion  of  La  Rochefou- 
cauld, he  tells  us  to  what  a  degree  he  was  the 
dupe,  the  victim,  of  self-love.     Under  the  pre- 


I 


LYOF  TOLSTOI,  221 

text  of  discovering  the  progress  made  by  the 
ego,  and  of  advancing  it  towards  perfection,  "  I 
gave  in,  above  all,  to  the  desire  of  finding  that 
I  was  better  not  in  my  own  eyes,  not  even 
in  the  eyes  of  God,  but  above  all,  but  solely,  in 
the  eyes  of  others,  in  the  judgment  of  the 
world.  .  .  .  And  even  this  desire  to  seem 
better  to  other  men  quickly  yielded  to  the 
single  desire  of  being  stronger  than  all  others." 
All  these  manifestations  of  individual  force  so 
much  esteemed  by  men,  and  called  "  ambition, 
passion  for  power,  cupidity,  pleasure,  pride, 
wrath,  vengeance,"  —  Tolstof  also  admired 
them,  coveted  them,  and  finally  realized  them 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  rouse  admiration  and 
envy.  "Just  as  in  my  life  I  offered  homage  to 
strength  and  to  the  beauty  of  strength,  so  in  my 
works  I  most  often  sang  all  the  manifestations 
of  individual  force ;  and  yet  I  pretended  to  love 
truth,  and  boasted  of  it !  In  reality  I  loved 
only  force,  and  when  I  found  it  without  alloy 
of  folly,  I  took  it  for  truth."  We  shall  see  in 
studying  "  The  Cossacks  "  to  what  a  degree 
Tolstoi's  first  ideal,  followed  and  realized  espe- 
cially   during    his    stay    in    the    Caucacus,    is 


222  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

reflected  in  this  work,  which  is  the  actual 
product,  if  not  the  immediate  outcome,  of  his 
residence  there. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-six  Tolsto'f  changes  his 
environment :  he  leaves  the  army  and  the  bas- 
tions of  Sevastopol,  and  passes  directly  into 
the  circles  of  St.  Petersburg  where  the  famous 
writers  are  gathered.  He  is  welcomed,  fetedy 
placed  at  the  very  first  in  the  front  rank.  He 
changes  his  whole  manner  of  existence ;  but 
he  changes  it  in  the  name  of  a  new  faith,  the 
faith  in  the  "mission  of  the  men  of  thought." 
This  mission  consists  in  teaching  other  men. 
"Teaching  them  what  ?  I  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  myself.  But  I  was  paid  for  it  in  ready 
money.  I  had  a  magnificent  table,  a  sumptuous 
dwelling.  I  had  women,  I  had  society,  I  had 
glory.  What  I  taught  could  not  help  being 
very  good."  At  the  end  of  two  or  three  years 
of  this  existence,  Tolstoif  begins  to  doubt  the 
infallibility  of  his  literary  faith  :  he  applies  to 
the  settling  of  the  question  his  dissolvent  anal}^- 
sis.  He  bethinks  himself  to  discuss  also  the 
moral  worth  of  the  priests  of  this  faith,  of  the 
writers.     "  They  were  almost  all  immoral  men  ; 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  223 

and  the  great  majority  were  bad  men,  of  no 
character,  and  in  no  respect  less  so  than  the 
boon  companions  of  yore,  of  the  time  when  my 
life  was  only  a  round  of  gayety  and  disorder." 
A  sort  of  misanthropy  seizes  Tolstof  as  the 
result  of  his  inquiry.  A  new  Alceste,  he  hotly 
tears  himself  away  from  the  perverse  environ- 
ment of  literary  people,  and  begins  to  hunt  up 
and  down  the  world  for  the  support  of  a  new 
conviction. 

After  having  visited  foreign  lands,  interviewed 
philosophers,  questioned  the  men  of  "the  van- 
guard," Tolstoi  returns  to  his  country,  per- 
suaded that  progress  must  be  realized,  not 
within  himself,  but  outside  of  himself.  He 
becomes  farmer,  judge  of  the  peace,  magistrate, 
instructor;  he  j^unds  a  pedagogical  review,  and 
starts  a  school,  t  "  I  got  upon  stilts  to  satisfy 
my  desire  for  teaching."  In  spite  of  its  simple 
and  calm  appearance,  this  existence  let  all  the 
inward  trouble,  all  the  moral  anguish,  remain. 
"  I  left  every  thing,  and  I  departed  for  the 
steppe. ,  I  went  forth  among  the  Bashkirs  to 
breathe  the  pure  air,  to  drink  kumisy  and  to  lead 
an  animal  Hfe." 


224  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

On  his  return  from  his  visit  to  the  Bashkirs, 
Tolsto'f  marries.  The  joy  of  family  life  at  first 
takes  all  his  will,  absorbs  all  his  reflective  pow- 
ers. "  For  a  long  time  his  life  is  centred  in 
his  wife  and  in  his  children  :  it  is  entirely 
monopolized  by  the  anxiety  of  increasing  their 
well  being."  At  the  end  of  fifteen  years,  he 
finds  that  he  is  still  the  dupe  of  selfish  illusion, 
that  this  sacrifice  to  the  greatest  advantage  of 
his  family  has  simply  turned  him  aside  from 
the  search  after  the  real  meaning  of  life.  Is 
not  his  present  existence,  in  fact,  full  of  contra- 
dictions }  Long  ago  he  has  become  convinced 
that  literary  activity  is  vanity,  and  yet  he 
continues  to  write.  What  impels  him  to  it } 
"  The  seduction  of  glory,  the  attraction  of  large 
pecuniary  remuneration."  What  moral  princi- 
ple is  there  at  bottom  of  all  that  .^  Here  begins 
a  period  of  perplexity,  of  despondency,  of  bitter 
and  morbid  scepticism.  The  two  questions, 
"Why?"  and  "What  is  to  come.-*"  force  them- 
selves more  and  more  upon  his  mind.  By 
reason  of  attacking  the  same  problem,  like 
dots  on  the  same  bit  of  paper,  they  finally 
"make   a   huge    black    blot."      And    Tolstoi's 


LYOF   TOLSTOi'.  225 

scepticism  goes  over  from  theory  into  practice : 
it  is  nihilism  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word. 
"  Before  I  undertake  the  charge  of  my  property 
at  Samara,  the  education  of  my  son,  my  literary 
work,  I  must  know  what  is  the  good  of  doing 
it  all.  As  long  as  I  could  not  know  the  rea- 
son, I  could  do  nothing.  .  .  .  Well,  suppose  I 
shall  come  to  possess  ten  thousand  acres  and 
three  hundred  head  of  horses,  what  then.'' 
Suppose  I  become  more  famous  than  Gogol, 
Pushkin,  Shakspere,  and  all  the  writers  in  the 
world,  what  then  ?  I  found  no  reply."  At  this 
moment  of  strange  trouble,  Tolstoi'  seriously 
considers  the  question  of  suicide. 

How  did  he  succeed  in  escaping  the  entangle- 
ment of  scepticism }  He  takes  thQ  back  track 
in  his  ideas  in  regard  to  humanity.  He  had 
long  believed,  **  like  so  many  other  cultivated 
and  liberal  minds,  that  the  narrow  circle  of 
savants  and  wealthy  people  to  which  he  be- 
longed constituted  his  entire  world.  As  to  the 
thousands  of  beings  who  had  lived,  or  were  liv- 
ing still,  outside  of  him,  were  they  not  animals 
rather  than  men  }  I  can  scarcely  realize  tQ- 
day,  so  strange  do  I  find  it,  that  I  should  have 


226  f.YOF   TOLSTOI. 

fallen  into  such  a  mistake  as  to  believe  that 
my  own  life,  that  the  life  of  a  Solomon,  that  the 
life  of  a  Schopenhauer,  was  the  true  or  normal 
life,  while  the  life  of  all  these  thousands  of 
human  beings  was  a  mere  detail  of  no  account."- 
Fortunately  for  Tolstoif,  the  taste  for  country 
life,  and  his  intercourse  with  the  field-hands, 
brought  him  to  divine,  that,  "if  he  desired  to 
live  and  comprehend  the  meaning  of  life,  he 
must  find  this  meaning,  not  among  those  who 
have  lost  it,  who  long  to  get  rid  of  life,  but 
among  these  thousands  of  men  who  create  their 
life  and  ours,  and  who  bear  the  burden  of  both." 
Having  found  only  the  leaven  of  doubt  or  nega- 
tion among  the  men  of  his  own  society,  he  goes 
to  ask  the  germs  of  faith,  the  elements  of  reli- 
gion, among  the  poor,  the  simple,  the  ignorant, 
pilgrims,  monks,  raskolniks,  peasants.  In  them 
alone  he  finds  agreement  between  faith  and 
works.  "Quite  contrary  to  the  men  of  our 
sphere,  who  rebel  against  fate,  and  are  angry 
at  every  privation,  at  every  pain,  these  believers 
endure  sickness  and  sorrow  without  any  com- 
plaint, without  any  resistance,  with  that  firm 
and  calm  conviction  that  all  must  be  as  it  is, 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  22/ 

or  could  not  be  otherwise,  and  that  all  this  is  a 
blessing.  The  more  enlightened  we  are,  the 
less  we  comprehend  the  meaning  of  life  :  we 
see  only  cruel  mockery  in  the  double  accident 
of  suffering  and  death.  With  tranquillity,  and 
more  often  with  joy,  these  obscure  men  live, 
suffer,  and  approach  death."  Seeing  these  sim-' 
pie  souls  so  unanimous  in  their  interpretation 
of  existence,  so  obstinately  bent  on  seeking'the 
good  by  means  of  calm  labor  and  patience 
capable  of  enduring  any  trial,  TolstoT  again 
begins  to  feel  love  for  men ;  and  he  endeavors 
to  imitate  these  models.  After  ten  years  of 
initiation  into  the  holy  life,  he  reaches  the 
most  perfect  renunciation.  No  longer  to  think\ 
of  self,  and  to  love  others  only, — that  is  the 
moral  scheme  which  can  alone  reconcile  us  to 
existence,  and  reveal  to  us  the  good  concealed 
under  this  apparent  evil.  The  question  is, 
therefore,  not  to  think  well,  as  Pascal  said,  but 
to  live  well.  And  who  shall  tell  us  what  it 
is  to  live  well }  "  The  thousand  who  create 
life,  and  get  from  it  all  their  faith." 

This  expression,  "create  life,"  must  be  under- 
stood in  all  its  senses.     In  the  moral  sense,  it  is 


228  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

explained  only  by  its  contrary.  What  do  the 
wise  men,  the  Solomons,  the  Sakyamunis,  and 
the  Schopenhauers  do  ?  They  destroy  life ; 
they  present  it  to  us  as  an  absurdity  and  as  an 
evil.  The  calmness  with  which  the  humble,  the 
simple,  the  pariahs  of  society,  support  existence, 
shows  the  falseness  of  the  assertions  of  the 
thinker;  and  that  which  the  philosophers  in 
their  supercilious  speculation  claim  to  anihilate, 
the  modest  practice  of  these  virtuous  men 
re-establishes,  creates  in  a  certain  degree. 

Once  fixed  on  the  rock  of  this  faith,  whith 
seemed  to  him  unassailable.  Count  Tolstoi'  felt 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  study  its  dogma  and 
formulate  its  credo.  He  wrote  "My  Religion." 
Later  we  shall  return  to  this  work,  in  which 
not  only  the  propensities  of  the  author  s  mind 
are  revealed,  but  also  the  tendencies  of  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  Russian  nation.  It  is 
enough  for  us  to  note  here  the  fundamental 
article  of  this  religious  law,  to  which  Count 
Tolstoif  assents  with  all  his  heart,  like  thou- 
sands, nay  millions,  of  his  compatriots  :  "Resist 
not  him  that  is  evil."  This  saying  of  Jesus 
sums  up  for  him  all  duties,  and  gives  us   the 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  229 

secret  of  all  the  virtues.  We  shall  see  in  detail 
the  applications  of  this  principle  to  the  conduct 
of  individual  and  social  life ;  for  the  present,  let 
us  content  ourselves  with  calling  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  path  followed  by  the  man  whom 
we  are  studying.  He  started  with  this  prin- 
ciple,—  the  exclusive  development  of  the  ego. 
In  practice,  this  principle  led  him  to  conflict,  to 
violence,  and  to  hatred.  He  ended  with  this 
principle,  —  the  absolute  sacrifice  of  the  ego.  In 
practice,  this  principle  leads  him  to  a  life  of 
abnegation,  of  gentleness,  and  of  love. 

Between  these  two  extreme  limits  of  his  de- 
velopment, we  have  seen  all  the  mental  states 
through  which  TolstoY  has  passed.  These  vary- 
ing dispositions  will  be  found  in  his  literary 
work.  It  would  be  running  systemization  into 
the  ground  to  desire  to  show  the  writer  going 
through  this  development,  side  by  side  with 
the  man.  But  it  is  only  just  to  remark  to  what 
a  degree  Tolstoi's  earlier  writings,  his  "Ka- 
zaki,"  for  example,  express  his  first  ideal,  that 
of  the  epoch  in  which  he  was  taken  up  exclu- 
sively with  force,  and  when  he  worshipped  it 
in  himself,  giving  it  the  name  of  truth.     Later 


230  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

on  in  "  Anna  Karenina,"  one  of  his  favorite 
characters,  Levin,  will  closely  resemble  Tolstor 
changed  into  a  farmer,  and  already,  in  his  draw- 
ing towards  the  rural  populace,  advancing  to- 
wards the  abandonment  of  all  egotism,  towards 
the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  towards  that  simplicity 
of  virtue  personified  by  the  peasant  Feodor  in 
the  story  of  "Anna  Karenina,"  and  the  soldier 
Platon  Karatai'ef  in  "  War  and  Peace." 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  23 1 


11. 

Count  Tolstoi's  literary  life  is  divided  very 
sharply  into  three  periods ;  or,  if  the  expression 
be  preferred,  his  powerful  talent,  original  from 
the  very  first,  has  passed  through  three  phases. 
He  began  by  writing  works  which  are  mainly 
the  working  up  of  reminiscences  or  illustra- 
tions of  personal  impressions.  In  the  **War 
Sketches,"  in  "Childhood  and  Youth,"  in  "The 
Cossacks,"  the  writer  confines  himself  to  narra- 
tion. Of  these  three  writings,  the  one  that 
best  shows  Tolstoi's  talent  in  the  first  part  of 
his  career  is  the  romance  entitled  "  Kazaki," 
which,  to  use  Turg^nief's  words,  is  "an  in- 
comparable picture  of  men  and  things  in  the 
Caucasus."  In  a  detailed  analysis  of  this 
masterpiece,  we  shall  find  the  definition  of 
Tolstof s  manner  at  the  time  of  his  forceful 
youth. 

The  second  period  is  that  of  ripe  age ;  it  is 


232  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

filled  by  the  two  great  novels  "War  and  Peace," 
and  *'Anna  Karenina."  The  writer's  manner 
has  singularly  broadened ;  even  the  dimensions 
of  the  frame-work  of  the  fiction  have  taken  an 
almost  exaggerated  aspect.  "  War  and  Peace  " 
makes  not  less  than  eighteen  hundred  pages. 
"Anna  Karenina"  appeared  in  the  "Russia 
Vyestnik,"  not  in  the  course  of  months,  but  of 
years.  It  is  true  that  between  two  parts  of  the 
work  the  author  stopped,  as  though  he  had  lost 
interest  in  its  publication.  But  the  public  did 
not  lose  its  interest  by  waiting ;  and  when,  after 
more  than  half  a  year,  the  narrator  resumed  the 
broken  thread  of  his  story,  his  readers  found 
themselves,  as  it  were,  dazzled  by  the  return  of 
the  brilliant  characters  of  the  romance,  after 
this  long  and  dismal  eclipse. 

In  the  novels  of  this  second  perio4,  argument 
forces  its  way  in  under  cover  of  fiction.  Thus, 
in  "Anna  Karenina,"  which  is  the  story  of  an 
adultery,  Tolstoi  has  not  only  tried  to  present 
us  with  a  very  accurate  picture  of  aristocratic 
customs  in  Russia ;  he  has  not  only  wished  to 
show  as  the  centre  and  powerful  fascination  in 
this  series  of  pictures,  the   very  subtle,  very 


LYOF  TOLSTOI  233 

penetrating,  very  accurate  study  of  a  soul 
wounded  by  love,  the  wound  of  which  becomes 
more  and  more  painful  under  the  effect  of  the 
friction  and  worriments  following  her  first  fault: 
but  he  has  also  wished  to  attack,  to  settle  in 
his  own  way,  a  problem  in  the  social  order ; 
he  wished  to  express  his  opinion  about  mar- 
riage, about  separation,  about  divorce,  about 
celibacy,  about  unions  freely  agreed  upon  and 
religiously  maintained. 

"  War  and  Peace,"  likewise,  is  a  sort  of  sem- 
military,  serai-domestic  epos ;  or,  if  you  like,  it 
is  a  broad  study  of  Russian  life,  and  especially 
of  aristocratic  life,  whether  in  the  camps, 
whether  in  the  parlors,  whether  in  the  resi- 
dences of  the  proprietors  during  the  first  quar- 
ter of  this  century,  and  more  especially  at  the 
time  of  the  invasion.  But  within  this  ample 
scope  the  author  expresses  his  theories  on  mili- 
tary art,  his  private  opinions  on  the  state  of 
war  and  on  the  state  of  peace,  his  philosophic 
doctrine  of  destiny,  or  his  religious  fatalism. 
Some  of  the  characters  in  "  War  and  Peace  " 
seem  at  certain  times  to  give  a  prophetic  hint 
of  the  dogma  which  Count  Tolstor  will  adopt  a 


234  LYOF   TOLSTOI. 

little  later.  In  Pierre  Bezukhof  are  seen  the 
aspirations  towards  the  ideal  which  the  author 
of  "  My  Religion "  will  soon  be  preaching  to 
men. 

If  his  teaching  at  this  time  encroaches  on 
the  romance,  still  it  understood  how  to  use  mar- 
vellously well  that  vehicle  for  dissemination 
wherever  the  Russian  language  is  spoken  ;  and 
we  shall  see,  in  analyzing  them,  that  the  two 
works  of  Tolstoi's  second  manner  show  a  power 
and  a  brilliancy  that  are  truly  Shaksperian. 
But  the  mysticism,  traces  of  which  are  found  in 
these  works,  will  develop  in  their  author  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  make  him  look  upon  a  novel  as 
an  object  of  scandal,  as  a  "flood  of  oil  thrown 
on  the  fire  of  erotic  sensuality."  He  will  there- 
fore renounce  the  inventions  of  romance ;  he 
will  sacrifice  fiction,  which  now  he  calls  "licen- 
tious ; "  he  will  not  take  up  the  pen,  except  to 
perform  the  work  of  a  doctor  or  an  evangelist ; 
he  will  write  "  My  Confession,"  "  My  Religion," 
the  "Commentary  on  the  Gospels."  Of  these 
three  works  which  illustrate  Count  Lyof  Tol- 
stof's  third  manner,  the  reader  will  be  interested 
especially  in  knowing  about  the  first  two.     He 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  235 

will  even  find  that  we  have  already  said  enough 
about  "  My  Confession,"  and  he  will  take  it 
kindly  if  we  reserve  merely  "  My  Religion  "  for 
analysis.  In  return,  he  will  allow  us  to  dwell 
upon  it,  and  to  speak  of  it  entirely  at  our  ease. 
Before  entering  upon  the  study  of  "The  Cos- 
sacks," it  will  not  be  idle  to  run  quickly  over  a 
little  story  which  might  serve  in  place  of  an 
introduction  to  a  translation  of  this  romance. 
This  story,  consisting  of  only  a  few  pages,  is 
entitled  "Recollections  of  a  Scorer."'  It  is  the 
story  of  a  rich  young  man,  who,  having  full  con- 
trol of  his  fortune,  is  led  by  laziness  in  a  short 
time  to  degradation  and  ruin.  Nekliudof  falls 
into  the  society  of  debauchees  and  professional 
gamblers.  They  pluck  him,  and  ruin  him.  At 
his  first  appearance  in  this  society,  he  has  a 
feeble  nature,  but  not  vulgar.  He  had  some 
honor :  disgusted  by  the  lowness  of  one  of  the 
gamblers,  he  demands  reparation,  calls  him  a 
coward  when  he  refuses  to  fight,  and  compels 
him  to  leave  the  club  forever.  He  had  a  sense 
of  shame  :  on  the  day  following  a  most  debasing 
night,  when  he  had  been  made  intoxicated  and 
initiated  into  all  the  depths  of  debauchery,  he 

*  Zapiski  Markera, 


236  LYOF  TOLSTOI, 

bursts  into  tears,  declaring  that  he  will  never 
forgive  either  himself  or  his  companions  in  the 
orgie.  Passion  for  gambling  keeps  him  bound 
to  them  ;  he  sinks  so  low  that  soon  he  plays, 
not  only  with  his  habitual  partners,  but  with  the 
servant  who  fills  the  functions  of  scorer.  One 
by  one  he  descends  all  the  steps  of  a  sickening 
and  abject  degradation.  He  is  ruined,  and  dis- 
appears.* 

He  returns  one  fine  day,  enters  the  club,  asks 
for  writing  materials,  and,  having  finished  his 
letter,  summons  the  scorer :  "  I  would  like  to 
try  one  more  game  with  you."  He  gains. 
*' Haven't  I  learned  to  play  well?  Hey?"  — 
*'Very  well."  —  "Now  go  and  order  my  car- 
riage."    "  He  started  to  walk  up  and  down  the 

^  Count  Tolstoi  himself  apparently  narrowly  escaped  a  similar 
fate-  His  brother-in-law  induced  him  to  give  up  gambling  ;  but,  after 
he  went  to  Teheran,  he  fell  into  his  old  habits,  and  incurred  such 
debts  that  he  was  unable  to  pay  them.  He  tells  how  full  of  despair 
he  was  at  the  thought  of  a  certain  note  falling  due  when  he  had  noth- 
ing wherewith  to  meet  it.  He  began  to  pray  ;  and,  as  though  in  answer 
to  his  prayer,  he  received  a  playfully  sarcastic  letter  from  his  brother, 
enclosing  the  dreaded  note  which  a  brother  officer  had  generously 
refused  to  press  or  even  collect.  Yashvin's  passion  for  the  gaming- 
table, in  Anna  Karenina,  is  also  a  reminiscence  of  this  wild-oats  period 
in  Count  Tolstoi's  life.    All  true  fiction  must  be  fact.  —  N.  H.  D. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  237 

room.  Not  suspecting  any  thing,  I  went  down 
to  call  his  carriage ;  but  there  was  no  carriage 
there.  I  went  up-stairs  again ;  and,  as  I  ap- 
proached the  billiard-room,  I  thought  I  heard  a 
slight  noise,  like  a  knock  with  a  cue.  I  went  in. 
I  noticed  a  strange  smell.  I  looked  around : 
what  did  I  see  ?  He  was  stretched  out  on  the 
floor,  bathed  in  his  own  blood  ...  a  j^istol 
near  him.  I  was  so  terror-struck  that  I  could 
not  make  a  sound.  He  gave  a  few  signs  of  life  ; 
he  stretched  out  his  legs,  gave  the  death-rattle, 
and  all  was  over." 

If  this  young  Russian  had  possessed  a  strong- 
er nature  or  less  enfeebled  elasticity,  he  would 
have  done  like  Olenin,  the  hero  of  "  The  Cos- 
sacks," or  like  TolstoY,  who  is  himself  repre- 
sented under  that  name.  He  would  have  torn 
himself  from  his  habits  ;  he  would  have  started 
for  the  Far  East :  he  would  have  been  certain 
to  find  there  enough  new  impressions  to  refresh 
his  weary  brain  ;  enough  manly  occupations  or 
vivifying  pleasures  to  strengthen  his  nerves, 
and  build  up  his  muscles ;  enough  perils  and 
accidents  or  proofs  of  every  kind  to  regen- 
erate his  soul,  purify  it  from  the  tares  of  vice, 


238  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

and  again  raise  the  wheat  of  more  than  one 
virtue. 

Tolstoi"  was  not  the  first  of  these  superficially 
blase  emigrants  who  went  off  to  Asia  to  find 
a  powerful  diversion  from  irksomeness,  from 
the  disgust  of  an  idle  and  disorderly  existence. 
Pushkin  had  pointed  out  the  road  for  him ;  and 
the  author  of  ''The  Gypsies"  had  himself  fol- 
lowed the  traces  already  marked  through  the 
desert  by  the  britchka  which  carried  Griboyd- 
dof,  and  the  ox-cart  which  brought  him  back.' 

"On  the  high  river  bank,"  says  Pushkin,  "I 
saw  before  me  the  fortress  of  Herhera.  Three 
torrents,  with  roar  and  foam,  come  tumbling 
down  the  banks.  I  had  just  crossed  the  river. 
Two  oxen,  hitched  to  an  arbuy  were  climbing 
the  steep  road.  A  few  Georgians  accompa- 
nied the  arba,  'Where  from.?'  I  asked  them. 
'From  Teheran.'  —  'What  are  you  carrying.?' 
—  'Griboyed.'     It  was  the  body  of  the  assassi- 

^  Aleksander  Sergey^vitch  Griboyedof  was  born  in  January,  1795, 
and  died  in  1829.  He  studied  law  at  first,  but  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
entered  the  army,  and  afterwards  the  college  of  foreign  affairs,  the 
service  of  which  took  him  to  Persia  and  Georgia,  where  a  part  of  his 
great  comedy.  The  Misfortune  of  having  Brains  (Gore  ot  Uma),  was 
written.  —  N.  H.  D. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  239 

nated  Griboyedof,  which  they  were  taking  back 
to  Tiflis." 

More  fortunate  than  Griboyedof,  Tolsto'f  will 
come  back  alive,  and,  like  Pushkin,  will  be  able 
to  describe  this  adventurous  existence ;  but  he 
will  describe  it  without  embellishments,  above 
all  without  exalting  it.  He  will  let  the  people 
whom  he  finds  there,  and  whom  he  studies  en- 
tirely at  his  leisure,  appear  in  all  the  bold  relief 
of  their  natures.  He  will  not  take  away  the 
strange  grace  and  the  perfume  of  the  wild- 
flower  from  this  nature  in  which  he  feels  a 
voluptuous  delight. 

The  evolution  of  the  romance  is  rapid  and 
fascinating.  We  are  at  Moscow.  The  night 
is  done.  The  busy  city  is  waking  little  by 
little.  The  indolent  youth  are  finishing  their 
evenings.  At  the  Hotel  Chcvallicr  a  light,  the 
presence  of  which  is  against  the  rules,  filters 
through  the  blinds.  A  carriage,  sledges,  and 
a  travelling  U^oikay  are  before  the  door,  near 
which  the  porter,  muffled  in  his  shuba,  and  a 
grumbling  lackey  with  pale,  drawn  features,  are 
waiting. 

In  the  dining-room  three  young  men  are  fin- 


240  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

ishing  a  farewell  supper.  One  of  them,  in  short 
shiibay  strides  up  and  down  the  room,  cracking 
almonds  in  his  strong,  thick,  but  well-cared-for 
hands.  At  first  glance  we  feel  moved  by  sym- 
pathy for  him  :  there  is  such  an  expression  of 
life  in  his  smile,  in  his  heated  cheeks,  in  his 
brilliant  eyes,  in  his  fiery  gestures,  and  in  his 
animated  voice.  He  is  off  for  the  Caucasus,  in 
the  capacity  of  yunker.'^ 

Olenin    found    himself,    without    family   and   \J 
without  curb,  at  the  head  of   a  great  fortune, 
which     at    twenty-four    he     has     already    half 
v/asted.     The  dominant  trait   of  his  character 
is   scorn    for   all    authority.      Yet    he    remains 
capable  of   every  impulse,    even    of   the    most 
generous.     He   has    experimented   with    social 
relations,  with  service  of  the  State,  with  farm- 
ing  occupations,   with    music,   with    love.     He         . 
feels  that  he  is  blase,  but  he  believes  that  he  \/ 
is  capable  of  beginning  life  anew.     He  is  not 
one  of  those  men  "  who,   born  for  the  bridle, 
put  it  on  once,  and  never  take  it  off  till  the  day 
of   their  death."      He  has   the  spirit  and  the 
vivacity  which  impel  him  to  pick  up  and  cast  ^ 
far  from  him  all  the  weight  of  servitude. 

'  Cadet,  or  ensign. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  24 1 

After  having  followed  a  whole  net-work  of 
unknown  and  obscure  streets,  after  having  felt 
a  softening  of  the  heart  during  this  drive,  not 
about  his  friends,  not  about  his  mistresses,  but 
about  himself,  as  though  his  tears  were  homage 
rendered  to  all  that  he  felt  that  was  still  good 
and  beautiful  and  strong  and  hopeful  in  him, 
Olenin  suddenly  finds  himself  before  the  wide, 
snow-bound  plain.  He  turns  his  mind  to  the 
past.  He  thinks  about  his  farming,  about  his 
debts,  about  his  follies  ;  and  he  comes  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  is,  "in  spite  of  all,  a  very,  very 
clever  young  man."  Having  made  the  first 
relay,  he  endeavors  to  bring  about  equilibrium 
in  his  budget,  so  as  to  pay  up  his  creditors  in 
the  briefest  possible  time  ;  and,  his  conscience 
being  now  eased,  he  falls  asleep.  He  dreams 
of  Circassian  beauties,  of  battles,  of  glory,  of 
passionate  love,  of  some  wild  beauty  tamed, 
civilized,  and  freed  by  his  hand.  His  tailor 
Capelli,  whom  he  owes  nearly  seven  hundred 
rubles,  comes  across  this  gilded  dream,  which 
is  rudely  interrupted  by  the  second  relay.  His 
journey  is  broken  or  filled  only  by  these  halts, 
by  tea  served  at  the  station,  by  watching  the 


242  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

rumps  of  the  horses,  by  a  few  words  with  his 
valet  Vanya,  by  a  certain  number  of  indefinite 
dreams,  and,  most  of  all,  by  the  nights  of  sound 
sleep,  such  as  is  granted  to  youth  alone. 

According  as  Olenin  advances  towards  the 
Caucasus,  calm  takes  possession  of  his  soul. 
The  evidences  of  civilization  which  he  sees  on 
the  route  are  a  trial  to  him.  At  Stavropol  he 
is  disagreeably  impressed  to  find  fashionable 
attire,  cabs,  and  round  hats.  But  as  soon  as 
he  is  beyond  the  city  the  country  assumes  and 
retains  a  wild  and  warlike  character.  In  the 
territory  of  the  Don  the  air  becomes  already 
so  mild  that  he  has  to  ride  without  his  furs. 
Nothing  is  so  delightful  as  this  unexpected 
spring.  But  here  is  something  better :  danger 
begins.  At  any  moment  they  may  be  attacked 
by  bandits.  Then  the  mountains  rise  on  the 
horizon.  The  first  impression,  at  twilight,  and 
from  the  distance,  and  through  the  clouds,  is 
disappointing  •  but  the  next  morning  at  early 
dawn,  in  the  clearness  of  the  sky,  they  take  a 
new  and  superb  aspect.  "  From  this  moment, 
all  that  he  saw,  all  that  he  thought,  all  that  he 
felt,  took  on  the  new  and  sternly  majestic  char- 


LYOF   TOLSTOL  243 

acter  of  the  mountains.  All  his  recollections  of 
Moscow,  his  shame  and  his  regret,  all  his  idle 
dreams  about  the  Caucasus,  departed,  never  to 
return." 

It  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Terek  that  Oldnin  / 
is  going  to  dwell,  to  struggle,  to  love,  to  hate, — 
in  a  word,  to  live,  —  for  a  number  of  seasons. 
It  is  this  river,  therefore,  that  Tolstor  begins  to 
describe  for  us,  with  its  heaps  of  grayish  sand, 
and  its  border  of  reeds  on  the  right  bank,  with 
its  low,  steep  left  bank,  gullied  and  crowned 
with  oaks  or  "rotten  plane-trees."  On  the 
right  are  the  villages  of  the  Tcherkes,  on  the 
left  the  stanitsas  (stations)  of  the  Kazaki.  **  In 
old  times  the  majority  of  these  stanitsas  were 
on  the  very  bank ;  but  the  Terek,  moving 
annually  north  of  the  mountain,  has  washed 
them  away,  and  now  only  the  traces  can  be 
seen  of  thickly-overgrown  ancient  ruins,  aban- 
doned gardens,  pear-trees,  lindens,  and  poplars, 
woven  together  with  mulberries  and  wild  vines.  t 
No  one  dwells  there  now ;  and  on  the  sand  only  \y 
the  tracks  of  stags,  wolves,  hares,  and  pheas- 
ants, which  love  these  places,  can  be  seen." 

A   delicious    impression    of  buoyant  air  and 


244  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

joyous  light  fills  Olenin's  heart  as  soon  as  he 
sets  foot  in  the  Novomlinskaia  stanitsa,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Kazak  tribe  of  Grebna.  His 
arrival  in  the  clear  twilight,  when  the  whitish 
mass  of  the  mountains  stood  out  distinctly 
against  the  brilliant  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
is  described  with  a  vivacity  of  coloring  which 
deliciously  translates  emotions  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. **  Young  girls  in  tucked-up  petticoats, 
with  switches  in  their  hands,  ran,  merrily  chat- 
tering, to  meet  the  cattle  hurrying  home  in  a 
cloud  of  dust  and  gnats  from  the  steppe.  The 
satiated  cows  and  buffaloes  scatter  through  the 
streets,  followed  by  the  Kazak  children  in  their 
variegated  Tatar  tunics.  Their  loud  conversa- 
tion, merry  bursts  of  laughter,  and  shouts  are 
commingled  with  the  lowing  of  the  cattle. 
Here  an  armed  Kazak  on  horseback,  having 
leave  of  absence  from  his  outpost,  rides  up  to 
a  cottage,  and,  leaning  down  from  his  horse, 
raps  at  the  window ;  and  in  a  moment  the 
pretty  young  head  of  the  Kazak  girl  appears, 
and  one  hears  their  gay,  affectionate  talk.  Here 
comes  a  ragged,  high-cheeked  Nogai  laborer 
back  with  reeds  from  the  steppe.      He  turns 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  245 

his  creaking  arba  into  the  captain's  broad, 
clean  dvor,  and  throws  off  the  yokes  from  the 
shaking  heads  of  the  oxen,  and  talks  in  Tatar 
with  the  esaul.  Around  the  puddle  which  fills 
nearly  the  whole  street,  and  by  which  people, 
all  these  years,  have  forced  their  way,  crowding 
against  the  fence,  a  bare-legged  Kazak  girl  is 
picking  her  way,  bending  under  a  bundle  of 
fagots,  and  lifting  her  skirt  high  above  her 
white  ankles  ;  and  a  Kazak  horseman,  return- 
ing from  the  chase,  laughingly  shouts  out,  *Lift 
it  higher,  wench  ! '  and  he  aims  at  her.  The 
Kazak  girl  drops  her  skirt,  throws  down  her 
wood.  An  old  Kazak,  with  turned-up  trousers 
and  bare  gray  breast,  on  his  way  home  from 
fishing,  carries  his  silvery  fish,  still  flopping  in 
the  net,  and,  in  order  to  take  a  shorter  path, 
crawls  through  his  neighbor's  broken  hedge, 
and  tears  a  rent  in  his  coat  on  the  thorns. 
Here  comes  an  old  woman  dragging  a  dry 
branch,  and  the  blows  of  an  axe  are  heard 
around  the  corner.  Kazak  children  shout  as 
they  whip  their  tops  wherever  there  are  level 
places  in  the  streets ;  women  crawl  through  the 
fences  so  as  to  save  going  round.    The  pungent 


246  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

smoke  of  burning  dung  rises  from  all  the  chim- 
neys. In  every  dvor  is  heard  the  sound  of  the 
increased  bustle  that  precedes  the  silence  of 
the  night." 

Amid  these  new  faces,  there  is  one  whom 
Olenin  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  very  first 
thing :  it  is  the  girl  to  whom  he  is  going  to 
lose  his  heart.  How  she  comes  upon  the  scene, 
this  wild  young  maiden,  with  her  noble  features, 
her  statuesque  form,  her  gloomy  and  burning 
eyes,  with  her  red  lips,  her  golden  complexion, 
her  supple  and  nervous  muscles,  her  turbulent 
blood,  her  savage  heart !  She  comes  in  with 
her  cattle,  which  break  their  way  through  the 
open  wicket,  following  a  huge  buffalo-cow  driven 
wild  by  the  gnats  of  the  steppe.  **  Marianka's 
face  is  half  concealed  by  a  kerchief  tied  round 
her  head  :  she  wears  a  pink  shirt,  and  a  green 
beshmety  or  petticoat."  She  hides  under  the 
pent-house  of  the  dvor ;  and  her  voice  is  heard 
as  she  gently  wheedles  the  buffalo-cow,  which 
she  is  about  to  milk  :  "  Now  stand  still !  Here 
now !  Come  now,  mdtiishka  !  "  How  could 
Olenin  escape  the  impression  of  "the  tall  and 
stately    figure,  .  .   .  her    strong     and    virginal 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  24/ 

form,  outlined  by  the  thin  calico  shirt,"  of  those 
beautiful  black  eyes,  which  at  first  will  shun 
him,  but  which  later  will  gaze  at  him  "with 
childish  fright  and  savage  curiosity."  Love 
will  be  born  all  the  more  easily  from  the  fact 
that  Marianka  is  the  daughter  of  the  people 
with  whom  Olenin  is  quartered,  and  that  he 
will  find  her  in  his  path  at  every  step. 

But  this  feeling  is  not  destined  to  be  met 
with  return.  If  Marianka  is  Olcnin's  ideal  of 
maidenly  beauty,  this  civilized  Russian  cannot 
arouse  in  the  young  girl's  heart  any  feeling  of 
admiration,  and,  in  consequence,  no  love.  He 
is  not  ill-favored,  or  a  weakling,  or  foolish, 
stupid,  or  cowardly ;  but  he  has  not  the  trium- 
phant beauty,  or  the  marvellous  vigor,  or  the 
ever-watchful  shrewdness,  or  the  pitiless  cour- 
age, of  the  young  Kazak,  Lukashka.  What 
woman  would  not  love  the  latter  .!*  He  is  so 
tall  and  so  well  shaped  ;  he  wears  his  soldier's 
rig  so  proudly,  his  torn  kaftan,  his  woollen  cap 
knocked  in  behind ;  he  has  such  elegant 
weapons,  and  such  unrivalled  skill  in  the  use  of 
them  !  There  is  nothing  sweet,  nothing  tender 
about  him ;  but  the  ardor  and  the  life  of  all  the 


248  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

passions  show  on  his  face,  with  its  black  brows, 
with  its  falcon  eyes,  with  teeth  of  dazzling 
whiteness.  He  appears  to  us  for  the  first 
time  at  the  Kazak  post,  near  the  Terek.  His 
great  hands  are  laying  snares  and  traps  for  the 
pheasants,  and  he  is  whistling.  His  comrade 
(Nazarka),  brings  him  a  live  pheasant,  not 
daring  to  kill  it.  "'Give  it  here!'  Lukashka 
took  a  small  knife  from  under  his  dagger,  and 
quickly  cut  the  pheasant's  throat.  The  bird 
struggled,  but  did  not  have  time  to  spread  its 
wings  before  its  bleeding  head  bent  over  and 
fell." 

Whatever  character  Tolstof  gave  these  young 
figures  of  Marianka  and  Lukashka,  he  does  not 
find  that  they  express  all  that  ideal  of  strength 
and  power  with  which  at  this  time  infatuated. 
Accordingly  he  calls  up  the  image  of  a  more 
striking  savagery,  in  the  person  of  the  old  Ye- 
roshka,  the  colossal  huntsman  with  his  voice 
of  thunder,  his  animal  habits,  his  ogre-like  ap- 
petites, and  his  childlike  character.  *'  Over  his 
shoulders  was  thrown  a  ragged  woven  zipun^ 
and  his  feet  were  shod  in  buck-skin  porshtti,  or 
sandals,  fastened  by  cords,  which  were  twisted 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  249 

about  his  legs.  On  his  head  was  a  rumpled 
white  fur  cap.  On  his  back,  over  one  shoulder, 
he  carried  a  kobiiilka  [an  instrument  to  catch 
pheasants],  and  a  sack  with  pullets  and  dried 
meat,  to  bring  back  the  falcon  ;  over  the  other 
shoulder  a  dead  wild-cat  was  swinging  by  a 
strap ;  behind  him,  fastened  to  his  belt,  were 
a  bag  containing  bullets,  powder,  and  bread, 
a  horse-tail  for  keeping  off  the  gnats,  a  big 
dagger  in  a  torn  sheath,  stained  with  blood, 
and  two  dead  pheasants."  This  giant  has,  for 
distinctive  traits,  the  discreet  and  silent  way  in 
which  he  walks  in  his  soft  sandals,  and  the  odor 
which  he  exhales,  "  a  strong,  but  not  unpleasant 
odor  mingled  of  fresh  wine,  of  vodka,  of  powder, 
and  of  dried  blood."  He  has  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  anecdotes,  about  his  past  life,  his  hunt- 
ing, his  exploits,  his  horse-thefts.  Yet  he  is 
only  a  child,  compared  to  what  his  father  was, 
who  carried  on  his  back  a  four-hundred-pound 
wild  boar,  and  drank  at  a  draught  two  buckets 
of  vodka.  He  likes  to  repeat  this  saw  of  a 
Western  man,  whom  he  knew  :  "  We  shall  all 
die,  the  grass  will  grow  on  our  grave,  and  that 
is  all."     He  is  stout  and  hearty  for  his  seventy 


250  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

years,  although  a  witch  had  ruined  him  a  little 
with  her  spell.  On  the  chase,  in  the  woods,  he 
does  not  cease  to  whisper,  God  knows  what 
mysterious  monologue.  When  he  returns,  if  he 
finds  some  host  at  whose  table  he  can  sit,  and 
if  he  can  only  have  wine  furnished  according  to 
the  measure  of  his  thirst,  he  gets  drunk,  until 
he  falls  stiff  on  the  floor.  Hunting  scenes, 
scenes  of  love,  scenes  of  ambuscade  or  of  com- 
bat, go  to  make  up  almost  exclusively  the  mat- 
ter of  all  this  work.  But  all  these  scenes  are  so 
variously  true,  and  so  profoundly  the  result  of 
experience,  that  the  romantic  thread  designed 
to  connect  them  seems  almost  needless.  What 
reader,  however,  would  have  the  courage  to  dis- 
engage it  ?  I  should  like,  for  my  part,  to  give 
by  way  of  analysis,  and  by  short  quotations,  an 
idea  of  the  most  powerful  scenes  here  pictured. 
I  will  present  them  in  the  order  in  which  they 
come. 

Here  we  are  in  ambush,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river:  ''They  were  hourly  expecting  the 
Abreks — as  the  hostile  Tchetchens  were  called 
—  to  cross  and  attack  them,  from  the  Tatar  side, 
especially  during  the  month  of  May,  when  the 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  2$  I 

woods  along  the  Terek  are  so  dense,  that  a  man 
on  foot  has  difficulty  in  breaking  through,  and 
when  the  river  is  so  low  that  it  can  in  many 
places  be  forded."  The  Kazak  Lukashka  is  gaz- 
ing at  the  sky,  with  its  flashing  of  heat  light- 
ning. He  spreads  down  his  kaftan  at  the  foot  of 
the  reeds?  "Occasionally  the  reeds,  without  any 
apparent  reason,  would  all  begin  to  wave  and  to 
whisper  to  each  other.  From  below,  the  waving 
feathers  of  the  sedge  looked  like  the  downy 
branches  of  trees,  against  the  bright  back- 
ground of  the  sky."  He  listens  to  all  the 
noises  of  the  night,  the  murmur  of  the  reeds, 
the  snoring  of  the  three  Kazaks  who  have  come 
with  him  to  keep  his  secret  guard,  the  buzzing 
of  the  gnats,  and  the  rippling  of  the  water,  from 
time  to  time  a  far-off  shot,  the  fall  of  a  part  of 
the  bank  washed  away,  the  splash  of  some  big 
fish,  the  crashing  of  the  underbrush  as  some 
animal  forced  its  way  through.  "  Once  an  owl, 
slowly  flapping  its  wings,  flew  down  the  Terek  ; 
over  the  heads  of  the  Kazaks,  it  turned  and  flew 
towards  the  forest,  with  faster  flapping  wings, 
and  then  fluttering  settled  down  in  the  branches 
of  an  old  tchinar  (plane  tree).     At  every  such 


252  LYOF  TOLSTO'i. 

unusual  sound  the  young  Kazak  pricked  up  his 
ears  eagerly,  snapped  his  eyes,  and  slowly  ex- 
amined his  gun." 

Suddenly  (it  is  now  almost  daybreak)  a  log 
with  a  dry  branch  floating  in  the  river  attracts 
his  attention.  He  immediately  notices  that  the 
log,  instead  of  going  according  to  the  will  of  the 
current,  and  floating  down  stream,  is  crossing 
the  river.  Here  follows  several  minutes  of 
strange  excitement:  the  whole  inner  drama 
which  is  enacting  in  this  young  savage's  soul  is 
expressed  with  so  much  truth  and  force,  that 
you  come  to  follow  with  him  the  voice  of  the 
ferocious  instinct  which  controls  him.  He  puts 
his  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  waits,,  while  his 
heart  is  violently  beating  at  the  thought  that 
he  may  miss  his  human  game ;  finally  he  draws 
a  long  breath  and  shoots,  muttering,  according 
to  the  Kazak  custom,  the  "  In  the  name  of  the 
Father  and  the  Son."  The  tree  trunk,  rocking 
and  rolling  over  and  over,  swiftly  floats  down 
the  stream,  freed  from  the  weight  which  it 
carried. 

And  when  the  Kazaks  come  hurrying  down, 
both  on  foot  and  on  horseback  (the  first  thing, 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  253 

in  case  of  a  surprise,  was  to  send  for  re-enforce- 
ments), what  a  scene  is  that  where  the  lucky 
marksman  plunges  into  the  water  to  go  and 
bring  his  fish  from  the  sandbank,  and  flings  the 
corpse  on  the«bank  "like  a  carp  "  !  What  barba- 
rous coloring  in  the  exclamations  of  the  specta- 
tors !  "  How  yellow  he  is  !  "  says  one.  "  He 
was  evidently  one  of  their  best  jigits^''  says 
Lukashka :  "his  beard  is  dyed  and  trimmed." 
While  they  are  on  the  spot,  the  chief  claims  the 
jigifs  gun,  one  Kazak  buys  the  kaftan  for  a 
ruble,  another  promises  two  gallons  of  vodka 
for  the  dagger. 

But  the  marvellous  fragment  of  this  broad, 
animated,  boldly  lighted  canvas  is  this  group, 
this  contrast  between  the  living  man  trium- 
phant in  his  nakedness,  and  the  corpse  lying  on 
the  ground,  naked  also,  but  rigid  and  terrible  to 
see  under  the  strange  coloration  and  the  discon- 
certing expression  of  death.  "The  cinnamon 
colored  body,  with  nothing  on  but  wet,  dark- 
blue  cotton  drawers,  girdled  tightly  about  the 
fallen  belly,  was  handsome  and  well  built ; 
the  muscular  arms  lay  stiffly  along  the  sides  ; 
the  livid,  freshly  shaven  round  head,  with  the 


254  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

clotted  wound  on  one  side,  was  thrown  back ; 
the  smooth  sunburned  forehead  made  a  sharp 
contrast  with  the  shaven  head ;  the  glassy  eyes 
were  still  open,  showing  their  pupils,  and 
seemed  to  look  up  beyond  then\  all ;  a  good- 
natured  and  shrewd  smile  seemed  to  hover  on 
the  thin  and  half-open  lips  under  the  reddish, 
half-cut  mustache.  The  small  bony  hands 
were  covered  with  hair;  the  fingers  were 
clinched,  and  the  nails  had  a  red  tinge. 
Lukashka  was  not  yet  dressed ;  he  was  still 
wet ;  his  neck  was  redder,  and  his  eyes  were 
brighter,  than  usual ;  his  broad  cheeks  trem- 
bled;  and  from  his  white  and  healthy  body 
there  seemed  to  rise  into  the  cool  morning  air 
a  visible  vapor." 

As  a  reward  for  this  expedition,  the  Kazaks 
who  took  part  in  it  are  permitted  to  go  and 
spend  the  day  at  the  village.  The  victorious 
Lukashka  steps  up  to  Marianka  with  the  same 
feeling  of  faith  in  his  strength  and  in  his  skill 
as  he  had  had  the  evening  before  while  lying  in 
wait  for  the  enemy.  He  asks  her  for  some  of 
the  sunflower  seeds  which  she  has  ;  she  offers 
him  her  apron.     He  comes  close   to  her,  and 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  255 

whispers  a  request  of  her :  she  replies,  "  I  shall 
not  go!  I  have  said  so."  He  follows  her  by 
the  house,  and  there  he  urges  her  to  love  him. 
She  laughs,  and  sends  him  off  to  his  married 
mistress.  He  cries,  "  Suppose  I  have  a  sweet- 
heart, the  Devil  take  her."  She  does  not 
reply,  but  breaks  the  switch  which  she  has  in 
her  hands.  At  last,  "  I  will  marry  certainly, 
but  don't  expect  me  to  commit  any  follies  for 
you,  never ! "  He  tenderly  woos  her.  She 
leans  against  him,  kisses  him  on  the  lips,  calls 
him  a  sweet  name,  and,  after  pressing  him 
warmly  to  her,  suddenly  tears  herself  from  his 
arms  and  runs  away.  *'  You  will  marry,"  he 
says  to  himself,  *'  but  the  only  thing  that  I 
want  is  that  you  love  me  !  "  He  went  off  to 
find  Nazarka  at  Yamka's;  "and,  after  drinking 
a  while  with  him,  he  went  to  Duniashka's, 
where  he  spent  the  night." 

In  this  struggle  for  existence,  and  in  this 
battle  for  the  possession  of  the  beauty  whom 
both  love,  why  should  not  Olenin  be  worsted 
by  Lukashka .''  The  principal  obstacle  to  the 
triumph  of  the  son  of  civilization  comes  from 
his  intellectual  advantages  and  from  his  moral 


256  LYOF  TOLSTOL 

perfection.  Do  the  best  he  can,  he  can  never 
get  rid  of  all  his  prejudices.  He  will  be  able 
only  to  approach  that  barbaric  ideal  which  his 
rival  without  effort  realizes  by  his  natural  gifts. 
In  Marianka's  eyes  he  could  have  only  bor- 
rowed virtues,  only  the  graces  of  a  plagiarist. 
Olenin  cannot  change  his  nature  by  chan- 
ging his  habits  ;  still  more  he  cannot  succeed  by 
formulating  a  theory  of  life,  in  conforming  to  it 
in  all  respects  the  practical  facts  of  existence. 
The  contradictions  which  result  from  this  con- 
flict between  the  past  and  the  present,  between 
long-settled  ideas  and  ptesent  convictions,  is 
strongly  brought  out  by  Tolstoi'  in  many  pas- 
sages in  the  novel.  Here  is  one  example :  The 
first  time  that  the  young  Russian  goes  alone 
pheasant-hunting,  he  gets  tired,  and  lies  down 
on  the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  forest. 
Myriads  of  gnats  settle  down  upon  him.  The 
torment  of  it  nettles  him,  discourages  him.  He 
is  on  the  point  of  retracing  his  steps  ;  an  effort 
of  the  will  keeps  him  where  he  is.  Finally 
the  feeling  of  pain  is  diminished,  and  at  length 
it  seems  to  him  almost  agreeable.  "  It  even 
seemed  to  him  that  if  this  atmosphere  of  gnats 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  257 

surrounding  him  on  all  sides,  this  paste  of 
gnats  which  rolled  up  under  his  hand  when  he 
wiped  his  sweaty  face,  and  this  itching  over  his 
whole  body  were  missing,  the  forest  would 
have  lost  for  him  its  wild  character  and  its 
charm." 

From  this  reflection  he  passes  to  others ; 
and,  lying  "in  the  old  stag's  bed,"  he  thinks 
about  his  whole  surrounding, — the  trees,  the 
wild  vine,  the  frightened  pheasants,  the  com- 
plaining jackals,  the  gnats  buzzing  and  dancing 
amid  the  leaves.  "About  me,  flying  among  the 
leaves,  which  seem  to  them  immense  islands, 
the  gnats  are  dancing  in  the  air  and  humming, 
—  one,  two,  three,  four,  a  hundred,  a  thousand, 
a  million  gnats  ;  and  all  these,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other,  are  buzzing  around  me,  and  each 
one  of  them  is  just  as  much  a  separate  exist- 
ence from  all  the  rest  as  I  am."  It  began  to 
seem  clear  to  him  what  the  gnats  said  in  their 
humming.  "Here,  here,  children,  here  is  some 
one  to  eat,"  they  sing,  and  settle  down  upon 
him.  And  now  this  taught  him  that  he  was 
not  a  Russian  nobleman,  a  person  in  Moscow 
society,  a  friend  or  a  relative  to  this  and  that 


258  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

person.  It  came  to  him  that  he  was  just  a 
mere  gnat,  a  mere  pheasant,  a  mere  stag,  like 
those  around  him.  The  conclusion  which  he 
draws  from  this  is  quite  different  from  what 
would  be  expected.  Instead  of  saying,  "  Let 
us  struggle  like  these  beings,  and  like  them  let 
us  live  to  triumph,  or  let  us  triumph  to  live," 
Olenin  throws  himself  down  on  his  knees,  and 
beseeches  God  to  let  him  live  to  accomplish 
some  great  deed  of  devotion  ;  for  "  happiness," 
he  says,  "consists  in  living  for  others." 

What  did  Tolstoi*  mean  to  insinuate  t  That 
Olenin  was  illogical,  or  that  he  lacked  sincerity } 
It  will  be  enough  for  him  to  find  himself  in 
Marianka's  presence  to  forget  his  vow,  and  to 
sacrifice  his  morals  to  his  instincts. 

How  much  happier  the  Kazak  Lukashka  is 
in  having  only  instincts,  and  in  not  entangling 
them,  in  not  fastening  them  down  in  this  bird- 
lime of  moral  considerations  !  This  is  what 
Tolstoi  seems  to  have  wished  to  be  understood 
in  a  marvellous  scene,  an  analysis  of  which 
cannot  give  either  the  bold  design  or  the 
sombre  coloring  or  the  proportions  worthy  of 
an    epos.      It    is   the   wholly    Homeric   parley 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  259 

about  the  ransom  of  the  corpse.  The  brother 
of  the  dead  man  and  his  murderer  are  face 
to  face :  the  former  tall,  stalwart,  with  red- 
dish trimmed  beard,  with  an  air  of  royalty 
under  his  ragged  kaftan,  honoring  no  one  with 
a  glance,  not  even  looking  at  the  corpse,  and 
sitting  on  his  crossed  legs,  with  a  short  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  doing  nothing  except  occasionally 
giving  an  order  in  a  guttural  voice  to  his  com- 
panion the  interpreter;*  the  latter  with  diffi- 
culty restraining  the  exultation  into  which  he  is 
thrown  by  the  promise  which  has  just  been 
made  of  giving  him  the  cross,  and,  in  spite  of 
his  face  reddened  with  pleasure,  striving  to  pre- 
serve an  impassive  attitude,  and  whittling  a 
stick  of  wood,  out  of  which  he  will  make  a 
ramrod. 

The  Tchetchenets  has  merely  asked,  as  he 
takes  his  departure,  where  the  murderer  is  ; 
and  the  interpreter  points  out  Lukashka.  "  The 
Tchetchenets  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  slowly  turning  away,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
other  bank.  His  eyes  expressed,  not  hatred, 
but  cold  disdain."  They  get  into  the  boat ;  they 
rapidly  push  through  the  stream.      Horsemen 


26o 


yOF   TOLSTOI. 


are  waiting  for  them  ;  they  put  the  dead  body- 
across  a  saddle  on  a  horse,  which  shies.  Lu- 
kashka  is  told  what  a  curt  threat  the  Tchetchen- 
ets  made  as  he  went  away.  **  You  have  killed  us, 
but  we  will  crush  you."  Lukashka  bursts  out 
laughing.  ."  Why  do  you  laugh  }  "  asked  Olenin. 
*'  If  they  had  killed  your  brother,  would  you  be 
glad  ? "  The  Kazak  looked  at  Olenin,  and 
laughed.  He  seemed  to  have  comprehended 
his  idea,  but  he  was  above  all  prejudice.  "  Well, 
now,  mayn't  that  happen.?  Isn't  this  neces- 
sary.? Haven't  they  sometimes  killed  some  of 
our  men  t " 

The  time  passes.  Instead  of  drinking,  of 
playing  cards,  of  flirting  with  the  Kazak  women, 
of  all  the  time  calculating  his  chances  of  pro- 
motion, like  the  majority  of  the  Russian  yun- 
kers  in  the  Caucasus,  Olenin  plunges  into  the 
solitudes  of  the  woods,  and  gathers  indelible 
impressions.  His  love  for  Marianka  has  im- 
perceptibly developed  until  it  presents  all  the 
phenomena  of  a  genuine  passion.  He  has  even 
blurted  out  a  few  hints  of  his  affection,  which  a 
strange  timidity  or  a  scruple  of  candor  keeps 
him  from  putting  into  more  direct  form ;  but  at 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  26 1 

niiiht  he  comes  to  the  door  of  the  room  where 
the  young  girl  is  sleeping,  in  order  to  listen  to 
her  breathing.'  What  shall  he  do?-  To  take 
her  for  his  mistress  would  be  "horrible;  it  would 
be  murder."     To  marry  her  would  be  worse. 

"Ah  !  if  I  could  become  a  Kazak  like  Lu- 
kashka,  could  steal  horses,  could  drink  tchikhir 
wine,  could  sing  songs,  shoot  people,  creep 
under  her  window  at  night  when  drunk,  with- 
out any  thought  of  what  I  am,  or  why  I  exist, 
that  would  be  another  matter.  Then  we  might 
understand  each  other ;  then  I  might  be  happy. 
.  .  .  What  is  the  most  terrible  and  the  most 
delightful  thing  in  my  position  is  the  feeling  that 
I  understand  her,  and  that  she  will  never  under- 

*  M.  Dupuy,in  his  condensation  of  the  story,  loses  the  perspective. 
016nin  taps  lightly  on  the  window.  "  He  ran  to  the  door,  and  actually 
heard  Marianka's  deep  sigh  and  her  steps.  He  took  hold  of  the  latch, 
and  shook  it  softly.  Bare,  cautious  feet,  scarcely  making  the  boards 
creak,  drew  near  the  door.  The  latch  was  lifted :  the  door  was  pushed 
ajar.  There  was  a  breath  of  gourds  and  marjoram,  and  suddenly 
Marianka's  full  form  appeared  on  the  threshold."  But  the  prospec- 
tive interview  is  broken  by  the  appearance  of  Lukashka's  friend 
Nazarka,  who  has  to  be  bought  off.  The  next  day  016nin  writes  a 
letter,  which,  being  more  like  a  diary,  he  does  not  send,  "because  no 
one  would  understand  what  he  meant  to  say."  In  this  letter  occurs 
the  passage  which  M.  Dupuy  quotes.  —  M.  11.  D. 


262 


LYOF  TOLSTOI. 


Stand  me.  It  is.  not  because  she  is  below  me 
that  she  does  not  understand  me  :  no,  she  could 
not  possibly  understand  me.  She  is  happy.  She, 
like  nature  itself,  is  beautiful,  calm,  and  abso- 
lutely self-contained."  What  is  to  be  done,  then  ? 
Give  her  up  }  Sacrifice  himself }  What  folly  I 
Live  for  others  }  Why  1  It  is  the  fate  of  men 
to  love  only  the  ego;  that  is  to  say,  in  this 
case,  to  conquer  Marianka,  "and  live  her  life." 
Olenin  then  makes  himself  drunk  like  a  Kazak ; 
and,  in  the  madness  of  intoxication,  he  offers  to 
marry  the  young  girl.  She  perceives  clearly 
that  that  is  only  the  wine  that  speaks :  she 
drives  the  wooer  away,  and  escapes  him. 

Yet  she  feels  somewhat  moved  in  conse- 
quence of  this  offer ;  and  on  the  day  of  the 
stanitsa  festival  she  is  rude  to  Lukashka, 
though  she  has  already  become  his  acknowl- 
edged "bride."  But  a  tragic  event  is  about  to 
bring  forth  abundantly  the  feeling  which  fills 
this  young  soul  to  overflowing.  All  Marianka's 
deep  love  for  Lukashka  will  suddenly  gleam 
out  with  unexpected  brilliancy,  like  the  gloomy 
sheet  of  the  Terek  in  the  flashes  of  the  storm. 

The  Kazaks  have  started  out  on  an  expedi- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  263 

tion  against  the  Abreks.  Olenin  follows  the 
band  which  is  directed,  but  not  commanded,  by 
Lukashka.  The  engagement  take^  place.  The 
Abreks  are  sitting  in  a  swamp  at  the  foot  of 
a  hillock  of  sand.  The  Kazaks  approach  them 
behind  a  cart  loaded  with  hay.  At  first  they 
do  not  reply  to  the  enemy's  shots.  They  wait 
till  they  are  within  five  paces  from  the  Abreks, 
then  they  rush  upon  them.  Olenin  joins  them. 
"  Horror  came  over  his  eyes.  He  did  not  see 
any  thing  distinctly,  but  perceived  that  all  was 
over.  Lukashka,  white  as  a  sheet,  had  caught 
a  wounded  Tchetchenets,  and  was  crying,  '  Do 
not  kill  him.  I  will  take  him  alive.'  The  Tchet- 
chenets was  the  red-bearded  Abrek,  the  brother 
of  the  one  whom  he  had  killed,  he  who  had 
come  to  ransom  his  body.  Lukashka  was  twist- 
ing his  arms.  Suddenly  the  Tchetchenets  tore 
himself  away,  and  his  pistol  went  off.  Lukashka 
fell.  Blood  showed  on  his  abdomen.  He  leaped 
to  his  feet,  but  fell  back  again,  swearing  in 
Russian  and  Tatar.  Still  more  blood  appeared 
on  him  and  under  him.  The  Kazaks  hurried 
up  to  him,  and  began  to  loosen  his  belt.  One 
of    them  —  it    was    Nazarka  —  for   some    time 


264  LYOF   TOLSTOI. 

before  coming  to  him  could  not  sheathe  his 
shashka.  The  blade  of  the  shashka  was  cov- 
ered with  blood." 

*'  When  Olenin  came  back  to  Marianka,  and 
wanted  to  speak  of  his  love  for  her,  he  found 
her  grieving.  She  looked  at  him  silently  and 
defiantly. 

*' Olenin  said,  *  Mariana,  I  have  come.'  .  .  . 

"  *  Stop,'  she  said.  Her  face  did  not  change 
in  the  least,  but  the  tears  poured  from  her  eyes. 

"  '  What  is  the  matter  }  What  are  you  crying 
for .? ' 

** '  Why } '  she  repeated  in  a  hoarse,  deep 
voice.  'They  have  been  killing  Kazaks,  and 
that's  what  the  matter  is  ! ' 

*'  *  Lukashka  } '  asked  Olenin. 

*'  *  Go  away.     I  don't  want  to  see  you.' 

"  *  Mariana,'  said  Olenin,  coming  nearer  to 
her. 

"  *  You  will  never  get  any  thing  from  me  ! ' 

"  *  Mariana,  don't  say  so  ! ' 

*' *  Go  away,  you  hateful  man!'  cried  the 
young  girl,  stamping  angrily,  and  starting 
towards  him  with  a  threatening  gesture.  Such 
anger,    scorn,    hatred,    were   expressed    in    her 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  265 

face   that    Olenin    instantly    saw   that   he    had 
nothing  more  to  hope  for." 

He  therefore  goes  away.  The  scene  of  his 
farewell  with  the  old  uncle  Yeroshka  has  that 
exquisite  pathos  where  smiles  are  mingled  with 
tears.  As  a  friendly  gift  at  this  solemn  mo- 
ment of  separation,  the  old  Kazak  gives  the 
young  Russian  some  advice  which  will  save 
his  life  in  battles.  He  casts  ridicule  on  the 
customs  of  the  orthodox  soldiers.  *'When  you 
have  to  go  into  battle,  or  everywhere,  —  I  am 
an  old  wolf,  you  see,  who  has  seen  every  thing, 
—  when  they  fire  at  you,  don't  go  into  a  crowd 
where  there  are  many  men.  You  see,  when 
your  fellows  are  a  bit  afraid,  they  all  crowd 
together ;  and  though  it's  more  sociable  in  a 
crowd,  it  is  more  dangerous,  because  a  crowd 
gives  a  good  mark.  ...  I  say  sometimes,  when 
I  look  at  your  soldiers,  "  I  wonder  at  *em.  How 
stupid !  They  go  straight  on,  all  in  a  mass ; 
and,  what  is  worse,  they  wear  red.  How  can 
they  help  getting  killed?  "  And  he  breaks  into 
tears  as  he  kisses  this  young,  "ever-wandering 
fool ; "  but  he  manages  to  extort  from  him  a 
gun,  to  keep  as  a  remembrance  of  him. 


266 


LYOF  TOLSTOI. 


"Olenin  looked  round.  Dyadya  Yeroshka 
and  Marianka  were  talking,  evidently  about 
their  own  affairs ;  and  neither  the  old  Kazak 
nor  the  young  girl  were  looking  at  him." 
(With  these  simple  but  pathetic  words,  the 
story  ends.) 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  26/ 


III. 


An  analysis  mingled  with  characteristic  quo- 
tations might  be  able  to  give  some  slight  idea 
of  the  romance  **  Kazaki,"  might  give  the 
reader  a  hint  of  its  interest,  its  color,  and  its 
flavor  of  originality.  An  analysis  of  "  War  and 
Peace**  can  have  no  other  aim,  no  other  pre- 
tension, than  to  point  out  Tolstoi's  design  in 
this  colossal  work,  and  separate  the  moralist's 
tendencies  from  the  story  itself,  which  every 
one  will  want  to  read,  and  read  again,  in  detail. 

In  "War  and  Peace,"  amid  a  multitude  of 
thoroughly  interesting  figures,  there  are  three 
heroes  who  in  some  measure  occupy  the  fore- 
ground, and  who  stand  out  clearly  against  a 
background  of  great  variety,  carefully  studied, 
and  peopled  with  living  beings.  These  three 
characters  are  Andrei  Bolkonsky,  Nikolai 
Rostof,  and  Pierre  Bezhukhof.  The  last  men- 
tioned is  not  at  first  glance   the  one  who   is 


268  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

most  attractive  in  outward  appearances ;  but  it 
is  the  one  whose  moral  nature  is  most  curious, 
the  one  in  whom  the  author  has  expressed  his 
own  inmost  views,  the  one  who,  in  his  eyes, 
best  illustrates  the  striking  faults  and  the  fun- 
damental virtues  of  a  Russian  nature.  Bezu- 
khofs  qualities  are  exactly  those  of  the  men 
of  the  Slav  race :  he  is  good,  gentle,  loyal,  com- 
passionate ;  his  faults  are  indolence,  apathy, 
fickleness  in  his  tastes,  incapability  of  following 
a  given  course,  inaptitude  in  realizing  his  own 
volitions. 

Thus  after  having  given  his  word  not  to  at- 
tend a  soiree  at  Prince  Anatol  Kuragin's,  Pierre 
Bezukhof  goes  there,  becomes  intoxicated,  then 
with  the  aid  of  another  gay  spirit,  Dolokhof, 
fastens  a  police-agent  to  the  back  of  a  tame 
young  bear,  and  throws  them  both  'into  the 
river.  Dolokhof  is  degraded  ;  Pierre  escapes 
with  a  few  months'  exile  from  the  capital.  In 
the  same  way  Bezukhof  is  perfectly  convinced 
that  Elen  Kuragina's  beauty  and  the  dazzling 
whiteness  of  her  shoulders  do  not  hinder  her 
from  being  dangerous  on  account  of  her 
coquetry ;     he    has    heard    mysterious     rumors 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  269 

concerning  her  equivocal  relations  with  his 
brother,  the  last  of  the  debauchees ;  he  is  per- 
fectly convinced  that  it  would  be  foolish  to  the 
last  degree  to  marry  this  admirable  character, 
and  that  the  best  way  of  not  committing  this 
folly  is  to  give  up  seeing  her  charming  face, 
her  seductive  snowy  complexion.  Unhappily 
for  him,  her  marble  shoulders,  neck,  and  bosom, 
one  evening,  came  close  to  his  poor  near- 
sighted eyes,  and  all  "  is  so  near  to  his  lips  that 
he  had  scarcely  to  bend  a  hair's  breadth  to 
impress  them  upon  it."  Pierre  Beziikhof  does 
not  depart  more :  he  allows  himself  to  be  mar- 
ried, partly  through  infatuation,  partly  through 
feebleness. 

The  marriage  almost  from  the  very  first  turns 
out  ill.  The  rake  Dolokhof  has  returned,  and 
never  leaves  Bezukhofs  house.  Pierre  long 
puts  up  with  a  situation,  the  meaning  of  which 
he  does  not  suspect :  the  inevitable  anonymous 
letter  comes  to  open  his  eyes.  At  first  he 
refuses  to  believe  what  he  has  been  told ; 
but  at  the  club  where  he  meets  Dolokhof,  it  is 
sufficient  for  him  to  find  himself  face  to  face 
with  his  wife's  lover,  for  his  jealousy  to  burst 


270  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

forth  with  a  flash  like  a  discharge  of  electricity. 
The  first  pretext  gives  Pierre  cause  for  a  quarrel, 
and  a  duel  follows.  Dolokhof  is  a  crack  marks- 
man :  he  has  no  sort  of  feebleness.  Pierre 
Beziikhof  is  near-sighted,  awkward :  he  has 
never  fired  a  pistol  in  his  life.  But,  as  if  by 
judgment  of  God,  it  is  Dolokhof  who  falls. 

Returning  home,  Pierre  Bezukhof  tries  vainly 
to  sleep,  so  as  to  forget  all  that  has  just  passed. 
He  cannot  close  his  eyes.  *'  He  got  up,  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room  with  un- 
even steps.  Now  he  thought  of  the  early  days 
of  their  marriage,  of  her  beautiful  shoulders, 
of  her  languishing,  passionate  gaze ;  now  he 
pictured  Dolokhof  standing  by  her,  handsome, 
impudent,  with  his  diabolic  smile,  just  as  he 
had  seen  him  at  the  club  dinner ;  now  he  saw 
him  pale,  shivering,  vanquished,  and  sinking  on 
the  snow. 

*' '  And,  after  all,  I  have  killed  her  lover,"  he 
said  to  himself;  'yes,  my  wife's  lover!  How 
could  that  be  }  '  It  happened  because  you  mar- 
ried her,'  said  an  inward  voice.  'But  in  what 
respect  am  I  to  blame  }'  — '  You  are  to  blame 
because  you  married  her  without   loving  her,' 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  2/1 

continued  the  voice;  'you  deceived  her,  since 
you  willingly  blinded  yourself.'  At  this  in- 
stant, the  moment  when  he  said  with  so  much 
difficulty,  '  I  love  you,'  came  back  to  his 
memory.  'Yes,  there  was  the  trouble.  I  felt 
then  that  I  had  not  the  right  to  say  it.'  " 

If  any  one  wishes  to  be  assured  of  the  pas- 
sage which  I  have  just  quoted,  he  must  open 
'*  My  Religion,"  and  there  read  the  commen- 
tary on  adultery,  and  the  condemnation  of 
divorce  according  to  the  books  of  Matthew 
(xix.),  Mark  (x.),  Luke  (xvi.),  and  Paul's  First 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians.  According  to  Tol- 
stoi, marriage  is  indissoluble.  Nothing,  not 
even  a  wife's  unfaithfulness,  authorizes  a  man  to 
repudiate  her;  and,  if  he  puts  her  away,  he  can- 
not marry  another  without  himself  committing 
the  crime  of  adultery.  We  shall  see  this  theory 
more  clea^  brought  out  in  the  romance  of 
"Anna  Kar^nina;"  but  even  here  Tolstof 
makes  his  hero  Beziikhof  conform  to  it.  He 
will  not  allow  him  to  claim  the  hand  of  another 
woman  until  the  day  when  Elen's  unexpected 
death  shall  have  broken  the  bond  which  he  had 
imprudently  allowed  to  be  tied.     He  exalts  this 


2/2  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

imprudence  into  a  crime.  He  thinks  that  the 
chief  culprit  was  he  who  did  not  fear  to  con- 
tract a  loveless  marriage,  or  to  seek  in  this 
marriage  mere  gratification  of  pride  and  lust. 

But  Pierre  acknowledges  his  fault  to  no  pur- 
pose :  his  conscience  will  not  speak  as  soon  as 
his  wrath  is  again  stirred  up  by  his  wife's  impu- 
dent cynicism  and  truly  mad  provocations.  Elen 
comes  into  her  husband's  library  in  a  rich  and 
brilliant  dishabille,  with  her  calm  and  imposing 
air,  "though  on  her  slightly  prominent  forehead 
a  deep  line  of  fury  was  drawn."  She  reproaches 
her  husband  for  the  scandal  which  he  has 
caused,  twits  him  as  though  he  were  an  imbe- 
cile, and  declares  that  the  man  of  whom  he  was 
jealous  was  a  thousand  times  his  superior.  She 
claims  that  she  has  the  right  to  berate  him  ; 
"for  I  can  say  up  and  down  that  a  woman  with 
such  a  husband  as  you  who  would "^lot  have  a 
lover  would  be  a  rare  exception,  and  I  have 
none."  Pierre,  as  he  listens,  feels  a  moral 
discomfort,  which  torments  him,  the  sting  of 
physical  pain. 

" '  We  had  better  part,'  he  said,  in  a  choking 
voice. 


fl 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  2/3 

"  *  Part  ?  By  all  means,  on  condition  that  you 
give  me  enough  of  your  fortune,'  replied  Elen. 

"Pierre  leaped  to  his  feet,  and,  losing  con- 
trol of  himself,  flew  at  her. 

*'  '■  I  will  kill  you  ! '  he  cried ;  and  seizing  a 
piece  of  marble  from  the  table,  he  made  a  step 
towards  Elen,  brandishing  it  with  a  force 
which  even  startled  himself. 

"■  The  countess's  face  was  frightful  to  see : 
she  yelled  like  a  wild  beast,  and  fell  back. 
Pierre  felt  all  the  fascination,  all  the  intoxica- 
tion, of  fury.  He  threw  the  marble  on  the 
floor,  breaking  it  into  fragments,  and  advanced 
towards  her  with  uplifted  arms. 

"*Get  out,'  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
which  sent  a  thrill  of  terror  throughout  the 
house.  God  knows  what  he  would  have  done 
at  that  moment  had  Elen  not  fled. 

"A  w^k  later  Pierre  left  for  Petersburg, 
having  made  over  to  his  wife  the  full  control 
of  all  his  property  in  Russia  proper,  which 
constituted  a  good  half  of  his  fortune." 

In  going  from  Moscow  to  Petersburg,  Bezu- 
khof  stops  at  Torzhok  for  relays,  but  horses 
are  not  to  be  had.     He  spends  the  night  at  the 


274  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

post-Station.  The  bitterest  reflections  crowd 
upon  his  mind.  "  What  is  wrong }  what  is 
right }  Whom  must  you  love }  whom  must 
you  hate  }  What  is  the  end  of  life  t  "  "  Every 
thing  within  him  and  without  seemed  to  him 
confused,  uncertain,  distasteful ;  but  this  very 
feeling  of  repugnance  gave  him  an  irritating 
sense  of  satisfaction."  At  this  moment  a  stran- 
ger arrives,  an  old  man,  whose  **  grave,  intelli- 
gent, piercing  gaze"  strikes  Pierre,  and  troubles 
him,  in  spite  of  its  fascination.  The  new-comer 
knows  Bezukhof  by  sight,  and  has  heard  of  his 
domestic  grief.  He  expresses  to  Pierre  his  deep 
regret  at  this  ''misfortune."  Pierre,  confused 
at  the  pity  shown  him,  turns  the  conversation 
to  the  subject  of  a  death's-head  ring  which  he 
notices  on  the  stranger's  finger:  he  recognizes 
in  it  the  mark  of  Free  Masonry.  The  conversa- 
tion takes  up  the  moral  views  and  th^  religious 
doctrine  of  those  who  belong  to  the  order.  The 
old  man  urges  the  young  man  to  take  a  differ- 
ent view  of  life  from  that  of  looking  at  it  with 
horror ;  not  to  escape  from  it,  but  to  change  it. 
''How  have  you  spent  your  life.'*  In  orgies,  in 
debauchery,   in    depravity,   taking  every    thing 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  2/5 

from  society,  and  giving  nothing  in  return. 
How  have  you  employed  the  fortune  that  was 
put  into  your  hands  ?  What  have  you  done  for 
your  fellow-men  ?  Have  you  thought  of  your 
tens  of  thousands  of  serfs  ?  Have  you  ever 
helped  them,  morally  or  physically  ?  No  !  Is 
it  not  true  that  you  profited  by  their  labor  to 
lead  a  worthless  life  ?  That  is  what  you  have 
done.  Have  you  striven  to  employ  your  abili- 
ties for  the  good  of  others }  No,  you  have 
passed  your  life  in  idleness.  Then  you  married. 
You  undertook  the  responsibility  of  being  a 
guide  to  a  young  woman.  How  did  you  acquit 
yourself  .'^  Instead  of  aiding  her  to  find  the 
path  of  truth,  you  cast  her  into  an  abyss  of 
falsehood  and  misery.  A  man  insulted  you : 
you  killed  him.  And  you  say  that  you  don't 
believe  in  God,  that  you  look  upon  your  life 
with  horror.     How  could  it  be  otherwise  }  " 

In  this  programme  of  a  new  life  sketched  out 
by  the  old  Free  Mason,  we  recognize  the  one 
followed  by  Tolstof  himself,  at  a  certain  epoch 
of  his  life  between  the  period  of  relentless 
struggle,  of  implacable  egotism,  and  the  period 
of   absolute   sacrifice,  of   humble  renunciation. 


2/6  LYOF   TOLSTOI 

Pierre  accordingly  allows  himself  to  be  initiated 
into  the  order.  I  forbear  to  quote  all  the  pictur- 
esque details  of  the  ceremony.  The  novelist, 
using  his  rights,  does  not  fail  to  throw  a  curious 
light  on  the  mystic  customs  of  the  Russian 
aristocracy  at  the  beginning  of  this  century. 
What  concerns  us  to  note  here,  is  the  immedi- 
ate benefit  which  Pierre  Bezukhof  draws  from 
this  first  transformation  of  his  life.  The  simple 
prospect  of  devoting  himself  **to  the  regenera- 
tion of  humanity"  was  sufficient  to  put  meaning 
into  a  life  which  seemed  to  him  impossible  to 
travel.  Unfortunately,  in  practice,  his  accom- 
plishments fall  below  his  dreams.  He  contents 
himself  with  giving  his  overseer  orders  con- 
cerning the  emancipation  of  his  serfs,  the  ces- 
sation of  corporal  punishment,  the  reasonable 
regulation  of  labor,  the  building  of  hospitals  and 
schools.  The  overseer,  who  sees  through  his 
master's  naivetey  constantly  plays  it  upon  him, 
and  imposes  upon  him  in  regard  to  the  effect 
of  the  measures  prescribed,  but  which  he  care- 
fully refrains  from  undertaking.  Pierre  is  not 
the  man  to  descend  to  the  details  of  the  reform 
which  he  has  vowed  to  carry  out :  he  is,  above 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  2// 

all,  not  the  man  to  make  a  bold  stand  against 
the  difficulties  of  execution.  At  bottom,  he 
would  be  very  sorry  if  they  had  not  been  con- 
cealed from  his  sight.  Accordingly  he  contents 
himself  with  a  few  apparent  results,  and  is  very 
careful  not  to  look  too  closely  into  the  lack 
which  these  appearances  cover. 

Besides,  his  new  faith  receives  a  terrible  blow 
the  day  when  he  tries  to  make  one  of  his 
friends.  Prince  Andrei  Bolkonsky,  share  in  his 
conviction.  He  encounters  his  bitter  scepti- 
cism, which  is  the  fruit  of  heredity  (Andrei's 
father  having  been  a  "  grand  seigneur,"  of 
sharp  temper  and  despotic  soul),  but  it  is  also 
the  result  of  the  most  painful  collisions  in  life. 
Like  Pierre  Beziikhof,  Andrei  Bolkonsky  had 
been  the  husband  of  a  woman  whom  he  did  not 
love.  He  always  treated  her  like  a  brainless 
doll,  and  never  showed  any  other  feeling  in  her 
presence  than  lassitude.  His  only  attitude 
towards  her  was  that  of  disdain.  This  child, 
whom  he  did  not  have  the  patience  to  make 
into  a  helpmeet,  died  in  child-birth.  His  young 
wife's  death  has  left  in  Andrei  a  sense  of  irre- 
mediable injustice,  and  he  loves  better  to  blame 


27^  LYOF   TOLSTOI. 

fate  than  himself ;  although  at  times  he  is  seized 
with  such  a  violent  wish  to  repair  his  fault,  that 
he  is  driven  by  it  almost  to  express  his  belief 
in  immortality.  He  hesitates  to  utter  his  assent 
to  the  dogma  of  the  future  life  ;  but  his  wounded 
heart  allows  the  exclamation  to  escape,  "  Oh,  if 
it  were  so  !  " 

To  realize  the  distance  traversed  by  Count 
Tolstof  since  the  time  when  he  put  this  lan- 
guage into  Bolkonsky's  mouth,  we  must  look' 
in  **  My  Religion,"  at  the  place  where  the 
writer  —  rather,  let  us  say,  the  apostle  —  en- 
gages in  such  a  vigorous  combat  with  the  doc- 
trine of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  which  he 
condemns  as  heresy.  **  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
it  is  impossible  to  refrain  from  saying  that  the 
belief  in  a  future  life  is  a  very  low  and  degrad- 
ing conception,  founded  on  a  confused  notion 
of  the  resemblance  between  sleep  and  death, 
a  notion  common  to  all  savage  peoples.  The 
Hebrew  doctrine  (and  much  more  the  Christian 
doctrine)  was  far  above  this  conception." 

Prince  Andrei  Bolkonsky,  as  soon  as  he 
enters  the  stage,  strikes  us  as  one  of  the  most 
distinguished    examples    of   that   Russian   aris- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  2y() 

tocracy  to  which  Tolstof  belongs,  and  which 
he  wished  to  make  known  to  his  readers  in 
"  War  and  Peace."  He  has  for  his  dominant 
features  a  clear,  sharp,  penetrating  mind,  and 
all  the  elegancies  of  his  race,  including  a  super- 
eminent  pride.  During  the  peace,  and  when 
his  best  qualities  are  not  called  into  action,  he 
wears  some  "affectation  of  indifference  and 
ennui.'*  In  time  of  war,  and  when  "the  weight 
of  serious  and  real  interests  "  will  leave  him  no 
"leisure  to  consider  the  impression  which  he 
makes  on  others,"  he  will  deserve  all  Kutuzofs 
praise  by  his  solidity,  his  desert,  and  his  attach- 
ment to  his  duty.  He  will  give  offence  by  his 
disdain,  but  he  will  win  over  to  his  side  the 
majority  of  the  Russian  officers  ;  for  his  birth 
gives  him  a  certain  superiority  over  his  chiefs, 
which  they  themselves  tacitly  acknowledge. 
Finally,  he  has  a  few  rare  friends,  whom  the 
distinction  of  his  character  has  carried  even 
to  passionate  admiration. 

Andrei  Bolkonsky's  faults  and  virtues  are 
found,  with  more  striking  features,  and  exag- 
gerated till  they  give  an  impression  of  humor- 
ous terribleness,  in  his  father,  the  old  proprietor, 


280  LYOF   TOLSTOI. 

NikolaY  Bolkonsky.  With  his  powdered  wig, 
his  withered  hands,  his  arms  of  steel,  his  bushy, 
grizzled  brows,  under  which  shine  his  youthful 
and  brilliant  eyes  ;  with  his  manias  for  mathe- 
matics, for  turning  wooden  snuff-boxes,  and  for 
putting  up  buildings  ;  with  his  brusque  speech, 
his  sardonic  smile,  his  yellow  teeth,  his  ill- 
shaven  chin,  his  Tatar  boots  of  soft  leather, 
his  arm-chair  tainted  with  a  musty  odor  of  to- 
bacco,—  this  despot  is  not  to  be  forgotten.  He 
teaches  his  daughter,  the  Princess  Marya,  the 
sciences.  Before  she  goes  into  the  room  where 
her  father  is,  to  give  him  the  morning  greeting, 
the  young  woman,  as  she  leaves  the  vestibule, 
"  crossed  herself,  and  prayed  that  courage  would 
be  given  her."  On  the  day  when  his  son  Andrei 
comes  to  announce  that  he  is  going  away  to  en- 
ter the  service,  and  that  he  leaves  in  his  father's 
care  his  youiig  wife,  who  is  pregnant,  and  much 
troubled  by  a  prediction  which  had  been  made 
to  her  after  a  dream,  "the  king  of  Prussia,"  as 
the  old  man  is  nicknamed,  replies  only  with  the 
words,  — 

"  *  Bad  business,  hey  ;  *  and  he  smiled.  .  .  , 

"  *  What  is  bad  business^  father  ? ' 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  28 1 

"'Your  wife,'  replied  the  old  man  bluntly, 
accenting  the  word. 

'**  I  don't  understand  you.* 

"*Well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  can't  do  any 
thing,  you  see  ;  you  can't  get  unmarried.  Don't 
worry,  ...  I  won't  tell  anyone:  but — you 
know  it  as  well  as  I  do  —  it's  the  truth.*  He 
seized  his  son's  hand  with  his  lean,  bony  fingers, 
and  pressed  it,  while  his  piercing  eyes  seemed 
to  look  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  being.  His 
son  answered  with  a  silent  confession,  — a  sigh." 

The  weight  of  this  paternal  dictatorship, 
which  constantly  crushes  the  Princess  Marya, 
has  an  effect  upon  her  which  it  is  important 
to  note.  She  is  thrown  into  a  sort  of  mysti- 
cism, somewhat  like  that  which  we  have  seen 
come  over  TolstoY  himself.  She  has  frequent 
interviews  with  beggars,  pilgrims,  the  poor  in 
spirit ;  she  listens  to  them,  and  gets  instruction, 
not  from  their  coarse  anecdotes  about  the  won- 
der-working Virgin  whose  cheeks  sweat  blood, 
but  from  their  resignation  at  the  torments  of 
life.  Thus  she  succeeds  in  forgetting  her  most 
bitter  disappointments,  or  at  least  in  bearing 
them  with  a   steadfastness  which   no  stoicism 


282  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

can  approach.  She  also  gets  from  her  faith, 
her  gentleness  in  judging  those  who  come  near 
her. 

"  Akhy  Andrei,"  she  says  to  her  brother, 
"what  a  treasure  of  a  wife  you  have! — a  real 
child,  gay,  animated.  How  I  love  her ! " 
Andrei  had  taken  a  seat  by  his  sister :  he  did 
not  speak ;  an  ironical  smile  played  on  his  lips. 
She  noticed  it,  and  went  on  :  "  Her  little  weak- 
nesses call  for  indulgence.  .  .  .  Who  is  there 
without  some  ?  ...  To  understand  every  thing 
is  to  forgive."  And  she  forgives  every  thing, 
even  the  most  cruel  insult,  even  the  wound 
inflicted  on  the  most  sensitive  part  of  her  sen- 
sitive nature, — of  her  loving  heart.  The  hand- 
some Anatoli  Kuragin  comes  with  his  father, 
Prince  Vasili,  to  ask  her  hand  in  marriage,  she 
being  an  heiress.  While  waiting  to  carry  off 
this  dowry  with  a  high  hand,  he  plays,  in  the 
Bolkonsky  house,  as  everywhere  else,  his  game 
of  seduction  ;  and  he  has  rendezvous  with  the 
demoiselle  de  compagn'ie,  a  young  and  pretty 
French  girl.  Marya  catches  them  accidentally. 
She  refuses  the  marriage  which  she  had  eagerly 
anticipated.     "I  shall  be  called  to  some  other 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  283 

good  fortune.  I  shall  be  happy  in  devotion, 
and  in  making  others  happy."  She  dreams  of 
seeing  the  man  whom  she  loved  marry  the  one 
who  has  so  shamefully  insulted  her.  "  I  should 
be  so  glad  to  see  her  his  wife  :  she  is  so  sad, 
so  lonely,  so  abandoned  !  How  she  must  love 
him  when  he  forgets  her  so !  Who  knows } 
Perhaps  I  should  have  done  the  same." 

Andrei  goes  to  war ;  and  TolstoY  takes  us 
with  him  into  a  world  of  action,  which  he  de- 
scribes with  rare  power.  We  are  dazzled  at 
first  by  the  brilliant  art  with  which  the  novelist 
moves  armies,  carries  out  the  combinations  of 
tacticians,  shows  the  troops  with  their  pas- 
sionate dash  or  their  senseless  terrors,  repre- 
sents their  leaders  with  their  hesitations  or 
their  unconscionable  activity,  but  all  alive,  true, 
recognizable,  from  the  humblest  of  the  German 
officers  to  Napoleon  the  great  captain.  We 
are  singularly  struck  by  certain  of  his  pre- 
ferred methods  ;  like  that,  for  instance,  of  being 
true  to  fact  in  his  painting  of  what  is  always 
idealized.  Napoleon  has  vulgarities  of  character 
and  expression,  and  the  unexpected  meeting 
with  them  gives  us  at  first  a  shock  of  admiration. 


284  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

Instead  of  saying  simply,  "What  realism!"  we 
exclaim,  "  What  reality  !  "  Yet  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  consider  this  portion  of  "War  and 
Peace  "  as  inferior  to  others.  The  historian  in 
Tolsto'f  inspires  me  with  a  certain  feeling  of 
distrust :  it  seems  to  me  that  the  painter  of 
battles,  with  his  first-class  ability,  here  and 
there  takes  advantage  of  our  fairness.  There 
is  a  tinsel  effect  in  his  painting ;  the  details  are 
far  too  numerous,  and  there  is  not  so  much 
variety  among  them  as  one  would  think. 

What  is  incomparable  in  the  war  part  of  the 
romance  are  the  descriptions  of  military  cus- 
toms, the  scenes  of  camp-life,  the  impressions 
of  certain  hours  of  day  and  night,  the  reminis- 
cences of  evening  conversations,  the  effects  of 
groups  lighted  up  by  the  weird  light  of  the 
bivouac,  the  heart-rending  aspects  of  the  battle- 
field or  the  hospital-wards.  The  marvellous 
beauty  of  all  this  wealth  of  feelings  felt  and 
experienced  adds  its  glory  to  the  more  com- 
monplace and  less  valuable  woof  of  the  his- 
torical narration.  Turgenief,  who  understood 
this,  noted  somewhere  or  other  this  difference ; 
but  there  are  very  few  readers  who  can  thus 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  28$ 

bethink  themselves,  and  take  account  of  their 
illusions. 

Wounded  at  Austerlitz,  and  taken  to  the 
French  hospital,  Andrei  sees  Napoleon  ap- 
proach his  bedside ;  that  is  to  say,  he  sees  the 
one  who,  in  his  eyes,  represents  the  ideal,  the 
superhuman  man,  the  hero,  the  demigod.  At 
death's  door,  Andrei  sees  all  things  in  a  light 
which  reduces  them  to  their  real  proportions. 
To  him  all  Napoleon's  acts,  all  his  words,  all 
the  motives  which  make  him  act  and  speak, 
seem  empty  of  interest.  He  turns  from  the 
sight  of  what  is  only  human,  and,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  solely  on  the  medal  which  Marya  hung 
around  his  neck  on  the  day  of  his  departure,  he 
endeavors  to  believe  "in  that  ideal  heaven 
which  alone  promises  him  peace." 

Scarcely  recovered  from  his  wound,  Andrei 
returns  to  his  father's  home,  which  he  reaches 
in  time  to  be  present  at  his  wife's  confinement. 
There  is  here  an  admirable  scene,  which  will 
be  surpassed  only  by  the  birth-scene  described 
in  the  romance  of  "Anna  Karenina."  All  that 
is  dramatic,  august,  mysterious,  in  the  opening 
flower    of    maternity   has    been   expressed   by 


286  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

Tolstoi'  in  these  two  passages.  That  of  **  Anna 
Karenina "  is  famous.  We  feel  nothing  of 
the  equivocal  impressions  and  the  lugubrious 
effects,  which,  under  the  pretext  of  realism,  the 
author  of  "  La  Joie  de  Vivre  "  will  put  into  a 
similar  description.  But  a  parallel  between  the 
realism  of  Tolstoi"  and  the  realism  of  Zola 
would  carry  us  too  far  from  our  subject. 

The  impression  left  upon  Andrei  Bolkonsky 
by  the  death  of  his  wife  has  in  no  small  degree 
contributed  to  develop  in  him  the  tendency 
toward  dissatisfaction  with  life.  But  one  day  a 
young  girl  comes  into  the  circle  of  shadow,  and 
he  instantly  allows  her  to  usurp  its  place.  The 
memory  of  a  luminous  vision  is  brought  into 
the  depths  of  his  soul.  All  the  apparently 
sleeping  springs  of  affection  in  his  nature  are 
stirred  up  by  the  appearance  of  Natasha 
Rostova.  Chance  brings  Andrei  to  the  young 
girl's  paternal  mansion  :  he  falls  in  love  with 
her,  and  with  this  new  love  begins  the  renewal 
of  life. 

The  house  of  the  Rostofs  is  the  third  of  the 
seignorial  homes  which  Tolstoi'  opens  to  us,  and 
it  is  the  one  where  it  is  the  easiest  thino:  to  for- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  28/ 

get  one's  self.  Songs  only  are  heard,  merry 
laughter,  the  chatter  of  fresh  voices.  The  head 
of  the  family.  Count  Rostof,  is  a  great  proprie- 
tor, ostentatious,  but  free  from  arrogance,  and 
is  carelessly  hurrying  to  his  ruin  ;  but  no  one 
better  than  he  understands  the  duties  of  hospi- 
tality. His  wife  is  a  sweet,  good  woman,  ador- 
ing her  family,  and  by  her  family  adored.  There 
are  two  sons  in  the  house.  The  youngest,  Petya, 
is  a  child  at  the  beginning  of  the  story  ;  but  he 
will  be  seen  in  the  ranks  of  the  Russian  army 
before  the  end  of  the  book.  And  Tolstoi*,  in 
describing  his  heroic  death,  will  write  a  few 
pages,  the  beauty  and  noble  sadness  of  which, 
without  any  sense  of  detriment,  recall  Virgil 
and  the  episode  of  Euryalus  dying  beside 
Nisus.  The  elder  brother,  Nikolaf  Rostof,  is 
the  typical  young  noble,  born  for  military  life, 
for  whom  the  profession  of  soldier  is  the  first 
in  the  world,  who  is  too  sound  in  mind,  too 
healthy  in  body,  not  to  carry  everywhere  with 
him  his  good-humor  and  Jiis  off-hand  manners. 
But  he  returns  to  camp  as  to  a  second  hoinef 
and  weeps  with  joy  to  see  his  comrades  again ; 
and  he  has  no  regret  when  he  is  once  more  in 


288  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

his  tent,  and  he  submits  to  the  yoke  and  habits 
of  military  hfe  with  the  same  sensation  of  pleas- 
ure that  a  weary  man  feels  when  at  last  he  has 
the  chance  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  Tolstoi 
makes  use  of  Nikolai'  Rostof  just  as  he  does  of 
Prince  Andrdi,  in  order  to  make  us  present 
with  him  during  a  portion  of  the  deeds  of  war 
which  he  wishes  to  relate.  Rostof's  impressions 
are  not,  however,  like  Bolkonsky's  :  they  recall 
pretty  closely  the  memories  noted  in  the  "  Mili- 
tary Sketches "  of  Sevast6pol.  It  is  evident 
that  Tolstoi",  who  has  very  largely  put  himself 
into  each  of  his  characters,  has  reflected  him- 
self in  this  peculiar  side  in  this  one. 

In  the  house  of  the  Rostofs,  there  is  a  whole 
swarm  of  young  girls, — the  prudent  Viera, 
methodical  and  tiresome  ;  the  gentle  Sonya,  a 
poor  relation,  who  is  loved  by  the  son,  and  who 
worships  him,  even  to  sacrifice  :  she  will  forego 
marriage  with  him,  so  that  he  may  be  rich  and 
happy.  But  a  luminous  face,  dazzling  with  its 
freshness,  gayety,  and  grace,  is  that  shown  us 
in  Natasha,  Andrei  Bolkonsky's  "bride."  Na- 
tasha is  so  beautiful,  that  no  one  can  see  her 
without  loving  her.     She  is  willing  to  be  loved 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  289 

without  returning  it.  Happy  in  the  effect 
caused  by  her  beauty,  she  mistakes  all  her 
coquettish,  maidenly  caprices  for  honest,  serious 
sentimqjits.  She  has  imagined  that  she  was  in 
love  with  her  brother  Nikolaf s  friend  Boris, 
then  with  Denisof,  then  with  Prince  Andrei,  all 
in  succession ;  but  her  passion  has  never  yet 
been  really  awakened.  It  is  waiting  for  the 
appearance  of  the  last  aspirant,  the  only  one 
unworthy  of  being  chosen ;  and  then  it  bursts 
forth  with  frightful  violence.  Natasha  meets 
Anatoli  Kuragin  :  she  yields  to  the  fascination 
of  his  beauty,  his  boldness.  He  shamelessly 
addresses  a  few  coarse,  flattering  words  to  her ; 
and  she  is  intoxicated  by  this  unrefined  incense 
more  than  by  delicate  homage.  She  forgets 
that  she  is  plighted  to  Prince  Andrei :  she 
allows  herself  to  listen  to  words  of  love.  She 
loves ;  and  she  loves  so  passionately,  that,  with- 
out hesitation,  she  consents  to  all  that  her 
seducer  has  planned  to  lead  her  to  irretriev- 
able ruin.  She  is  willing  to  elope.  A  provi- 
dential chance  prevents  her  departure.  Pierre 
Bezukhof  arrives  in  time  to  reveal  to  the  unfor- 
tunate young  woman  that  Kuragin  is  married  : 


290  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

he  gives  him  a  pretty  rough  experience  of  his 
giant  hand,  and  compels  Lovelace  to  return 
Natasha's  letters,  and  to  pack  off. 

Natasha'  falls  ill  with  sorrow,  shajjie,  and 
remorse.  The  doctors  cannot  get  the  better 
of  this  moral  suffering.  Religion  alone  puts 
an  end  to  it.  A  lady  who  lives  in  the  coun- 
try near  the  Rostofs  comes  to  Moscow  during 
Lent,  and  takes  Natasha  with  her  to  perform 
their  devotions.  Each  morning  before  day- 
break they  set  out,  and  go  to  kneel  before  the 
Virgin,  "the  blackened  painting  of  whom  is 
lighted  up  by  the  candles  and  the  first  rays  of 
the  dawn."  Natasha  prays  with  fervor,  with  hu- 
mility. She  feels  that  she  is  gradually  becoming 
somewhat  regenerated ;  and  on  the  day  when  she 
is  to  receive  the  communion,  she  finds  herself 
"at  peace  with  herself,  and  reconciled  to  life." 

" '  Count,'  asked  Natasha  of  Pierre,  as  she 
paused,  *do  I  do  wrong  to  sing?'  And  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  blushed. 

"'No.  Wherein  would  lie  the  harm  .^  .  .  .  On 
the  contrary.     But  why  should  you  ask  me  t ' 

*  She  takes  a  dose  of  arsenic,  but  prompt  means  save  her  life.  — 
N.  H.  D. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  29 1 

"  *  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,'  replied  Natasha, 
speaking  hurriedly.  *  But  it  would  grieve  me 
to  do  any  thing  which  might  displease  you. 
I  saw,'  she  went  on,  without  noticing  that  Pierre 
was  embarrassed,  and  reddening  in  his  turn, 
*  I  saw  his  name  in  the  order  of  tbe  day.  .  .  . 
Do  you  think  that  he  will  ever  forgive  me }  Do 
you  believe  that  he  will  always  be  angry  with 
me  .^     Do  you  }  * 

"*I  think,'  continued  Pierre,  *that  he  has 
nothing  to  forgive.  If  I  were  in  his  place'  — 
And  the  same  words  of  love  and  pity  which  he 
had  spoken  to  her  once  before  were  on  his 
tongue's  end,  but  Natasha  did  not  give  him 
time  to  finish. 

"  *  Akh  !  you  }  That  is  a  very  different  thing,' 
she  cried  enthusiastically.  *  I  don't  know  a 
better  and  more  generous  man  than  you.  Such 
a  man  does  not  exist.  .If  you  had  not  helped  me 
then  and  now,  I  do  not  know  what  would  have 
become  of  me.'  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
which  she  hid  behind  her  music ;  and,  turning 
around  abruptly,  she  began  to  practice  her  sol- 
feggif  and  to  walk  up  and  down." 

Thus  begins  the  last  romance  in   Natasha's 


292  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

life.  She  loves  Pierre  Bezukhof,  not  with  the 
fanciful  love  which  she  felt  for  Andrei,  nor  the 
mad  passion  which  Kuragin  inspired  in  her,  but 
with  a  pure,  moral  affection,  founded  on  esteem, 
on  the  similarity  of  thoughts  and  feelings.  This 
union  is  the  only  one  which  Tolstoi*  wishes  to 
realize  for  Bezukhof,  for  it  is  the  only  kind  which 
seems  to  him  legitimate.  But,  before  it  can  be 
accomplished,  it  must  needs  be  that  the  man  to 
whom  Natasha  had  plighted  her  troth  should 
be  no  longer  between  her  and  the  one  whom 
she  is  to  marry.  Accordingly  we  are  brought 
to  witness  Andrei  Bolkonsky's  death. 

The  French  invasion  of  18 12  has  roused  all 
the  powers  of  Russia.  From  the  muzhik  to  the 
velmozhy  every  one  has  felt  the  impulse  of  self- 
sacrifice.  The  Rostofs,  whose  second  son  Pe- 
tya  desires  to  go  as  a  hussar,  are  surprised  in 
the  midst  of  moving,  by  the  arrival  of  wounded, 
whom  it  is  impossible  to  transport  farther. 
They  have  some  of  the  furniture  unloaded,  and 
arrange  a  train  of  wagons.  Among  the  mortally 
wounded  whom  they  have  thus  received  is  Prince 
Andrdi.  He  was  struck  by  a  bursting  shell  on 
the  same  day  as    Kuragin,  and  chance  has  so 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  293 

brought  it  about  that  the  wounded  man  can  be- 
hold on  his  bed  of  agony  the  man  who  stole 
Natasha's  heart  from  him.  This  is  a  most 
powerfully  dramatic  scene.  It  is  not  the  only 
one  offered  by  this  part  of  the  book.  Natasha 
discovers,  during  the  journey,  that  Prince  An- 
drei is  in  one  of  the  wagons.  She  makes  her 
way  out  during  the  night,  and  comes  to  kneel  by 
his  bedside.  Natasha  and  the  Princess  Marya 
meet  at  this  death-bed.  The  analysis  of  the 
wounded  man's  last  feelings  and  sensations  at 
the  supreme  moment  is  a  marvel  of  divination  : 
the  ecstasy  of  the  evening  hours,  the  delirium 
of  the  moments  of  somnolence,  are  expressed 
with  a  power  of  imagination  which  makes  one 
shudder. 

Meantime,  beside  the  Rostofs*  carriage  walks 
a  man  of  lofty  stature,  in  laborer's  attire.  It  is 
Pierre  Bezukhof,  who  also  has  desired  to  find  a 
chance  to  sacrifice  himself.  He  did  not  join 
the  army,  like  Andrei  Bolkonsky,  Nikolai'  Ros- 
tof,  Petya,  and  the  others.  Does  he  think,  then, 
like  the  author  of  "  My  Religion,"  that  he  has 
no  right  to  kill  a  man,  even  though  it  were  an 
enemy  of  his  country }     He  stays  in  Moscow, 


294  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

with  vague  projects,  which  Fate,  that  mighty 
actor  in  the  dramas  of  mankind,  according  to 
the  author  of  "  War  and  Peace,"  prevents  him 
from  putting  into  execution.  He  is  captured  by 
the  French,  and  endures  a  most  trying  nomad 
captivity.  But  he  finds  among  his  comrades 
in  misfortune  a  poor  soldier  with  wounded 
feet,  and  body  devoured  by  vermin,  and  from 
him  he  learns  the  great  secret  of  existence. 
Platon  Karatai'ef,  in  spite  of  his  pitiable  exte- 
rior, personifies  the  moral  and  religious  ideal, 
which,  as  we  have  already  seen.  Count  Tolstoi" 
definitely  came  to  accejot.  As  soon  as  the  hero 
of  **  War  and  Peace,"  Pierre  Bezukhof,  has 
reached  this  limit  of  his  development,  the  story 
has  only  to  proceed  of  its  own  inertia  to  the 
conclusion.  I  feel  that  there  is  no  necessity 
of  delaying  over  the  final  scenes.  The  Princess 
Marya,  whose  father  is  now  dead,  marries  Niko- 
lai" Rostof,  who  had  saved  her  life  by  quelling  a 
revolt  among  the  serfs  of  Luisuia  Gorui,  the  Bol- 
kon sky's  domain.  Bezukhof,  at  last  a  widower, 
is  free  to  marry  Natasha. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  295 


IV. 

As  in  "War  and  Peace,"  so  in  "Anna  Kar^- 
nina,"  we  shall  find  Count  Lyof  Tolstoi*  himself 
just  as  his  own  confessions  have  allowed  us 
to  point  him  out.  As  in  "  War  and  Peace," 
all  the  chief  personages  will  have  some  of  his 
characteristics,  and  Vronsky  and  Konstantin 
Levin,  in  turn,  represent  him  in  some  peculiar 
aspect,  in  the  same  way  as  Nikolaif  Rostof, 
Prince  Andrei,  and  Count  Pierre.  Thus,  in 
the  discourse  where  Count  Vronsky  proposes 
a  re-organization  of  his  landed  property,  and 
claims  that  it  must  be  based  on  the  agree- 
ment between  the  muzhik  and  his  former  lord, 
Count  Tolstoi"  propounds  a  theory  which  he 
long  held,  but  which  he  has  since  gone  beyond  ; 
for,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  he  has  reached  Com- 
munism. 

In  the  same  way  we  recognize  the  ideas  of 
"My  Religion"  in    Levin's   resistance   of   the 


296  LYOF  TOLSTOI, 

patriotic  outburst,  or,  to  use  his  language,  the 
unreflecting  enthusiasm  which  rouses  the  Rus- 
sian youth,  and  drives  one  of  the  characters  of 
the  story,  Vronsky,  to  enlist  of  his  own  accord 
for  the  defence  of  the  Serbian  cause.  While 
protesting  by  his  own  abstention,  and  also  by 
his  tirades  against  the  Slav  committees  and  the 
enlistment,  Konstantin  Levin  is  already  apply- 
ing the  doctrine  which  Count  Tolstof  will  for- 
mulate in  the  maxim,  "  Do  not  engage  in  war," 
and  on  which  he  will  make  the  following  com- 
ment:  **  Jesus  has  shown  me  that  the  fifth 
temptation  that  deprives  me  of  my  welfare  is 
the  distinction  made  by  us  between  our  com- 
patriots and  foreign  nations.  I  must  believe 
in  that.  Consequently,  if  in  a  moment  of  for- 
getfulness  I  experience  a  feeling  of  hostility 
against  a  man  of  another  nationality,  I  must 
not  fail  to  recognize,  in  my  thoughtful  mo- 
ments, that  this  feeling  is  false.  No  longer, 
as  formerly,  can  I  justify  myself  by  the  superi- 
ority of  my  people  to  others  ;  by  the  ignorance, 
the  cruelty,  or  the  barbarity  of  another  people, 
I  cannot  refrain,  at  the  first  opportunity,  from 
endeavoring  to  be  more  affable  to  a  foreigner 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  297 

than  to  one  of  my  countrymen."  And  if  Vron- 
sky  behaves  differently  from  Konstantin  Levin, 
it  is  not  because  Tolstoi'  wishes  to  offset  the 
conduct  of  the  one  to  the  views  of  the  other. 
In  reality,  it  is  not  from  conviction,  it  is  from 
despair,  that  Vronsky  enlists.  He  goes  away 
so  as  to  forget,  amid  the  excitement  —  or,  as 
Pascal  said,  the  divertissement  —  of  a  soldier's 
life  the  impression  of  the  inward  drama  which 
has  disturbed  his  soul  to  its  foundation,  and 
which,  by  a  fatal,  but  unexpected,  conclusion, 
has  just  bespattered  him  with  blood. 

The  romance  of  "  Anna  Kar^nina "  is  the 
history  of  an  adulterous  amour :  the  climax 
of  the  amour  is  suicide.  Is  this  suicide  in 
the  novelist's  mind  a  moral  penalty  ?  That 
would  be  a  wholly  barbarous  conception,  a  sort 
of  divine  judgment  such  as  would  have  been 
imagined  by  a  story-teller  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  TolstoT  seems  to  have  wished  to  forestall 
such  a  vulgar  interpretation  of  his  narrative. 
There  are  in  the  romance  other  criminal 
amours,  and  it  is  without  any  sign  of  punish* 
ment  that  the  wholly  immoral  relationship  be- 
tween the  Princess  Betsy  and  her  lover  leads 


298  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

them  to  scandalous  conduct.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  passion  which  unites  Anna  Karenina 
and  Vronsky  is  a  sincere,  profound,  almost 
solemn  passion,  in  spite  of  the  illegality  of  their 
behavior.  The  hearts  of  these  two  lovers  are 
culpable  but  lofty.  Besides,  the  more  sympathy 
the  author  of  the  romance  shows  in  their  presen- 
tation, the  more  powerful  is  the  lesson  which 
he  desires  to  draw  from  their  moral  torment. 
All  the  plan  and  all  the  interest  of  the  work 
are  here.  What  agonies  of  remorse  this  illegal 
union,  so  passionately  desired,  brings  upon  the 
guilty  woman  !  What  deep  mortifications  and 
what  vulgar  discomfitures,  what  deadly  humil- 
iations and  what  prosaic  irksomeness,  spring 
from  this  false  situation,  and  ultimately  make  it 
so  odious,  so  painful,  that  way  of  escape  has 
to  be  found  by  an  act  of  madness  in  a  moment 
of  despair ! 

Yet  never  were  more  conditions  united  to 
facilitate  this  union  outside  the  law.  Vron- 
sky's  rank  is  too  lofty  for  him  to  fear  public 
opinion :  he  makes  it,  as  it  were,  a  point  of 
honor  to  defy  it,  and  he  instals  his  mistress  in 
his  splendid   domain  as  though  she  were   his 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  299 

legitimate  wife.  Without  much  apparent  difiB- 
culty,  he  makes  his  friends  and  his  family  treat 
his  liaisoji  with  respect.  Anna  Karenina,  on 
her  part,  loves  Vronsky  with  a  perfect  passion, 
which  is  only  intensified  and  not  chilled  by  the 
feeling  of  sacrifices  undergone.  All  that  she 
asks  from  her  lover  in  return  is  to  be  loved  by 
him.  She  has  made  it  a  point  of  honor  on  her 
part  to  refuse  the  advantages  of  a  divorce  which 
her  husband,  Aleksei  Karenin,  at  first  offers  to 
have  pronounced  against  himself.  She  refused 
from  a  double  reason  of  delicacy  :  she  did  not 
wish  to  add  this  gratuitous  insult  to  the  wrongs 
of  which  she  is  guilty  towards  this  disagreeable, 
but  upright,  man  ;  above  all,  she  does  not  wish 
that  a  suspicion  of  calculation  should  cast  its 
shadow  over  the  feeling  which  she  has  towards 
the  count. 

A  divorce,  however,  would  put  an  end  to 
many  sentimental  doubts  causing  misunder- 
standings, and  to  many  subtleties  of  behavior 
resulting  only  in  collisions.  Vronsky  demands 
the  divorce  with  all  the  strength  'of  his  gener- 
ous pride.  Anna  Karenina  scouts  the  idea  of 
it  with  such  jealous  anxiety  as  a  naturally  noble 


300  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

woman  can  feel  in  preserving  the  remains  of 
her  dignity,  which  a  shock  of  passion  has 
thrown  down  and  broken  to  fragments  like  a 
costly  vase.  This  antagonism  creates  between 
the  two  lovers  a  secret  source  of  bitterness. 
There  are  other  latent  troubles.  By  her  mar- 
riage, Anna  Karenina  has  a  son  from  whom 
she  is  separated,  whom  she  worships  ;  and  the 
slightest  remembrance  of  him  causes  her  heart 
to  thrill  with  that  same  strange  feeling  which  is 
the  precursor  of  motherhood.  In  consequence 
of  her  amour  with  Vronsky,  she  has  a  daughter. 
By  a  singular  anomaly  she  does  not  love  the 
child  of  the  man  whom  she  loves  :  she  is  vexed 
with  her  daughter  for  occupying  in  some  meas- 
ure a  place  usurped,  for  monopolizing  with  her 
the  maternal  cares  which  it  seems  to  her  that 
the  other  child  so  grievously  needs.  If  as  a 
mother  she  has  her  whimsical  but  touching  fits 
of  jealousy,  as  a  woman  she  has  other  fears, 
the  absurdity  of  which  does  not  prevent  them 
from  being  very  painful.  She  spends  her  time 
and  gnaws  Her  heart  in  trying  to  divine  her 
lover's  attitude  towards  her.  She  knows  that 
for  her  sake  he  has  renounced  a  most  brilliant 


LVOJr  TOLSTOI.  301 

future ;  she  is  afraid  that  she  cannot  fill  his  ob- 
jectless existence ;  she  sees  in  each  attempted 
return  to  any  occupation,  to  any  distraction 
whatsoever,  a  proof  of  weariness,  a  confession 
of  irksomeness,  a  sign  of  regret. 

Vronsky,  who  has  made  absolute  renuncia- 
tion without  thought  of  return,  at  last  begins 
to  suffer  from  this  distrust :  the  more  it  grows, 
the  more  disappointment  and  secret  vexation 
he  feels.  Here  the  loftiness  of  character 
which  attaches  him  to  his  mistress,  and  which 
has  made  it  easy  for  him  to  brave  every  thing 
for  her,  turns  against  the  unfortunate  woman, 
and  impels  him  to  resist  the  efforts  which  she 
makes  to  get  fuller  possession  of  him.  It  is 
easy  to  imagine  what  will  be  the  outcome  of 
this  incessant  struggle.  Each  day  the  angles 
become  sharper,  feelings  become  more  touchy, 
actions  rankle  more  painfully ;  these  two  be- 
ings, starting  on  the  bright  and  free  pinnacles 
of  love,  have  descended,  without  being  them- 
selves aware  of  it,  into  the  dark  and  suffo- 
cating regions  of  hate.  The  result  of  this 
inevitable  decay  of  passion  is  made  not  less 
cruel,  but  more  evident,  by  a  wholly  external 


302  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

complication.  The  divorce  which  at  one  time 
Aleksei  Karenin  had  offered,  he  refuses  when 
his  wife,  weary  of  such  suffering,  at  last  de- 
cides to  ask  him  for  it.  Here  it  is  that  the 
future  author  of  "  My  Religion  "  appears  with 
his  precise  theory  of  the  immorality  of  divorce. 
The  group  of  mystics  to  which  the  deserted 
husband  has  been  led  to  ask  consolation  of  a 
religious  kind  declare,  through  the  mouth  of  the 
Countess  Lidia  Ivanovna,  that  Aleksei  Karenin 
cannot  accede  to  his  wife's  wishes,  and  grant 
her  liberty,  without  falling  himself  into  a  state 
of  mortal  sin. 

From  the  day  when  they  learn  of  his  refusal, 
Anna  Karenina  and  Vronsky,  in  spite  of  them- 
selves, rush  straight  towards  separation.  Anna, 
in  her  dread  of  it,  precipitates  it.  Vronsky  is 
nettled  at  her  ever  increasing  restlessness ;  and 
before  what  seems  to  him  pure  ingratitude,  he 
affects  an  indifference  which  he  does  not  feel. 
Discussions,  once  rare,  come  in  quick  succes- 
sion, and  become  quarrelsome.  This  daily  con- 
flict brings  about  an  explosion,  followed  by  a 
rupture. 

Vronsky  leaves  her.     He  goes  to  his  mother, 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  303 

the  natural  enemy  of  his  mistress.  As  soon  as 
she  is  alone,  Anna  Karenina  feels  as  though 
torn  in  every  fibre  of  her  being  :  he  must  come 
back ;  she  will  fall  on  her  knees  before  him  ; 
she  will  humiliate  herself  like  a  naughty  child. 
She  has  written  him  to  return,  but  she  has  not 
the  strength  to  wait  for  him  ;  she  hurries  to 
meet  him,  and  stops  at  andntermediate  station, 
when  by  a  telegram  she  informs  him  of  her 
arrival.  The  train  arrives.  Only  the  count's 
valet  appears,  bringing  a  note  in  which  Vronsky 
dryly  announces  that  he  is  coming  back.  The 
tone  of  the  note  is  interpreted  by  Anna  as  a 
new  proof  of  the  death  of  a  love  which  in  her 
alone  has  grown  with  time  and  possession.  She 
tells  herself  that  there  is  no  more  reason  to  live, 
and  a  series  of  fatal  circumstances  unite  at  this 
critical  moment  to  hasten  her  to  her  death. 
She  wishes  to  escape  the  inquisitive  eyes  of 
the  loiterers  at  the  station,  who  are  struck  by 
her  strange  behavior :  she  leaves  the  platform, 
and  steps  down  upon  the  track.  She  remem- 
bers the  terrible  accident  which  a  train-hand 
had  met  with  at  Moscow  on  the  very  day  of 
her   first   meeting   with   Vronsky.     A   sort   of 


304  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

reflex  action  takes  place  in  her  brain  :  a  freight- 
train  is  coming  along ;  she  goes  to  meet  it. 

"She  looked  under  the  cars,  at  the  chains 
and  the  brake,  and  the  high  iron  wheels ;  and 
she  tried  to  estimate  with  her  eye  the  distance 
between  the  fore  and  back  wheels,  and  the 
moment  when  the  middle  would  be  in  front  of 
her. 

"  *  There,'  she  said,  looking  at  the  shadow  of 
the  car  thrown  upon  the  black  coal-dust  which 
covered  the  sleepers,  'there  in  the  centre  he 
will  be  punished,  and  I  shall  be  delivered  from 
it  all,  — and  from  myself.' 

**  Her  little  red  travelling-bag  caused  her  to 
lose  the  moment  when  she  could  throw  herself 
under  the  wheels  of  the  first  car :  she  could  not 
detach  it  from  her  arm.  She  awaited  the  sec- 
ond. A  feeling  like  that  she  had  experienced 
once,  just  before  taking  a  dive  in  the  river, 
came  over  her,  and  she  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  This  familiar  gesture  called  back  to  her 
soul  memories  of  youth  and  childhood.  Life, 
with  its  elusive  joys,  glowed  for  an  instant  be- 
fore her,  but  she  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  the 
car;   and  when   the  middle   between  the  two 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  S^S 

wheels  appeared,  she  threw  away  her  red  bag, 
drawing  her  head  between  her  shoulders,  and, 
with  outstretched  hands,  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  under  the  car.  She  had  time  to  feel 
afraid.  *  Where  am  I  .'^  What  am  I  doing  .-* 
Why  .'*  *  thought  she,  trying  to  draw  back ;  but 
a  great,  inflexible  mass  struck  her  head,  and 
threw  her  upon  her  back.  'Lord,  forgive  me 
all ! '  she  murmured,  feeling  the  struggle  to  be 
in  vain.  A  little  muzhik  was  working  on  the 
railroad,  mumbling  in  his  beard.  And  the  can- 
dle by  which  she  read,  as  in  a  book,  the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  life's  work,  of  its  deceptions,  its 
grief,  and  its  torment,  flared  up  with  greater 
brightness  than  she  had  ever  known,  revealing 
to  her  all  that  before  was  in  darkness ;  then 
flickered,  grew  faint,  and  went  out  forever." 

Certainly  when  one  reads  this  brutally  fright- 
ful denouement  in  the  light  of  the  motto  of  the 
book,  "Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,"  one 
might  be  tempted  to  interpret  Jesus*  word  in 
its  Judaic  sense.  Yet  it  would  be  a  serious 
mistake.  It  is  very  certain  that  this  sudden 
and  tragic  end  in  the  novelist's  mind  was  meant 
for  Anna  Kar^nina's  deliverance :  out  of  pity 


306  LYOF  TOLSTOI, 

for  her,  he  granted  her  the  favor  of  death. 
Death  alone  could  put  an  end  to  the  torment 
of  this  soul,  and  this  torment  began  with  the 
sin.  Here  is  the  true  punishment  of  guilty 
love :  all  the  illusion  which  exalted  the  senses, 
as  long  as  they  are  pastured  in  "love's  shadow," 
as  one  of  Shakspeare's  characters  calls  it,  van- 
ishes; as  soon  as  one  is  sated  of  love  itself. 

"  What  had  been  for  Vronsky  for  nearly  a  year 
the  only  and  absolute  aim  of  his  life,  was  for 
Anna  a  dream  of  happiness,  all  the  more  en- 
chanting because  it  seemed  to  her  unreal  and 
terrible.  It  was  like  a  dream.  At  last  the 
waking  came;  and  a  new  life  began  for  her,  with 
a  sentiment  of  moral  decadence.  She  felt  the 
impossibility  of  expressing  the  shame,  the  hor- 
ror, the  joy,  that  were  now  her  portion.  Rather 
than  put  her  feelings  into  idle  and  fleeting 
words,  she  preferred  to  keep  silent.  As  time 
went  on,  words  fit  to  express  the  complexity 
of  her  sensations  still  failed  to  come  to  her, 
and  even  her  thoughts  were  incapable  of  trans- 
lating the  impressions  of  her  heart.  She  hoped 
that  calmness  and  peace  would  come  to  her, 
but   they  held  aloof.     Whenever  she   thought 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  30/ 

of  the  past,  and  thought  of  the  future,  and 
thought  of  her  own  fate,  she  was  seized  with 
fear,  and  tried  to  drive  these  thoughts  away. 

"'By  and  by,  by  and  by,'  she  repeated,  'when 
I  am  calmer.' 

"On  the  other  hand,  when  during  sleep  she 
lost  all  control  of  her  imagination,  her  situation 
appeared  in  its  frightful  reality :  almost  every 
night  she  had  the  same  dream.  She  dreamed 
that  she  was  the  wife  both  of  Vronsky  and  of 
Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch.  And  it  seemed  to 
her  that  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  kissed  her 
hands,  and  said,  weeping,  *  How  happy  we  are 
now  ! '  And  Aleksei  Vronsky,  he,  also,  was  her 
hus:band.  She  was  amazed  that  she  could  be- 
lieve such  a  thing  impossible ;  and  she  laughed 
\^en  she  seemed  to  explain  to  them  that  every 
thing  would  simplify  itself,  and  that  both  would 
henceforth  be  satisfied  and  happy.  But  this 
dream  weighed  on  her  spirits  like  a  nightmare, 
and  she  always  awoke  in  a  fright." 

That  is  the  moral  punishment.  What  keen 
psychology  !  What  an  admirable  commentary, 
and  what  a  powerful  interpretation  of  the  "j-«r- 
git  amari  aliquid!''     And  it  is   not   only  her 


308  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

punishment  as  a  woman  which  Tolstoi'  has  de- 
scribed, it  is  also  her  punishment  as  a  mother, 
when  the  separation,  long  postponed  by  the 
husband's  own  will,  becomes  indispensable  to 
the  two  paramours,  both  of  whom  have  returned 
from  the  doors  of  death,  and  returned  more 
morbidly,  more  hopelessly,  in  love  with  each 
other  than  ever  before. 

During  the  first  part  of  this  separation,  Anna 
Karenina  had  wonted  herself  to  think  that  it 
was  her  duty  to  give  up  all  that  had  hitherto 
gone  to  make  her  happiness,  and  to  leave  in 
her  husband's  hands  as  a  compensation,  such 
as  it  was,  all  the  elements  of  her  past  happiness 
which  she  had  exchanged  for  another  kind.  "  I 
give  up  all  that  I  love,  all  that  I  appreciate 
most  in  this  world, — my  son  and  my  repiifk- 
tion  !  "  She  succeeds  for  some  time  in  lulling, 
in  deceiving,  the  maternal  sentiment,  in  substi- 
tuting in  place  of  her  affection  for  her  son  her 
tender  and  constant  care  for  the  daughter,  the 
child  of  her  liaison  with  Vronsky.  But  Vron- 
sky  is  obliged  suddenly  to  leave  Italy  where 
they  have  been  together ;  he  and  Anna  reach 
Petersburg ;  the  mother  is  again  in  the  neigh- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  3^9 

borhood  of  the  house  where  her  son  is  living ; 
she  wishes  to  enter  it,  to  see  him  ;  she  begs  for 
permission,  and  it  is  harshly  refused ;  she  de- 
termines to  go  to  her  husband's  at  any  cost,  and 
make  her  way  to  the  child  by  bribing  the  ser- 
vants. The  reader  will  not  blame  me  for  quot- 
ing this  admirable  scene/ 

'  "She  went  to  a  neighboring  shop  and  pur- 
chased some  toys,  and  thus  she  formed  her  plan 
of  action  :  she  would  start  early  in  the  morning 
before  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  was  up ;  she 
would  have  the  money  in  her  hand  all  ready  to 
bribe  the  Swiss  and  the  other  servants  to  let  her 
go  up-stairs  without  raising  her  veil,  under  the 
pretext  of  laying  on  Serozha's  bed  some  presents 
sent  by  his  god-father.  As  to  what  she  should 
say  to  her  son,  she  could  not  form  the  least  idea: 
she  could  not  make  any  preparation  for  that. 

"The  next  morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  Anna 
got  out  of  her  hired  carnage  and  rang  the  door- 
bell of  her  former  home. 

*  M.  Dupuy  adds,  that  he  borrows  "  the  inelegant  but  expressive 
translation  of  this  scene  "  from  the  Journal  de  Saint  Petersbourg. 
In  the  present  case,  as  in  nearly  all  other  quotations  in  the  book,  the 
originals  have  been  used,  which  will  account  for  greater  or  less  varia- 
tions from  the  literal  version  of  the  French  text.  —  N.  H.  D. 


3IO  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

"  *  Go  and  see  what  is  wanted !  It's  some 
baruijiUy  said  Kapitonuitch,  in  overcoat  and 
galoshes,  as  he  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
saw  a  lady  closely  veiled  standing  on  the  porch. 
The  Swiss's  assistant,  a  young  man  whom  Anna 
did  not  know,  had  scarcely  opened  the  door 
before  Anna  thrust  a  three-ruble  note  into  his 
hand. 

"*Serozha  —  Sergei  Aleksievitch,'  she  stam- 
mered ;  then  she  went  one  or  two  steps  down 
the  hall. 

"The  Swiss's  assistant  examined  the  note, 
and  stopped  the  visitor  at  the  inner  glass  door. 

"  *  Whom  do  you  wish  to  see  } '  he  asked. 

*'  She  did  not  hear  his  words,  and  made  no 
reply. 

"Kapitonuitch,  noticing  the  stranger's  con- 
fusion, came  out  from  his  office  and  asked  her 
what  she  wanted. 

"  *  I  come  from  Prince  Skorodumof  to  see 
Sergei  Aleksievitch,' 

"  *  He  is  not  up  yet,'  replied  the  Swiss,  look- 
ing sharply  at  the  veiled  lady. 

"  Anna  had  never  dreamed  that  she  should  be 
so   troubled  by  the  sight   of  this  house  where 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  311 

she  had  lived  nine  years.  One  after  another, 
sweet  and  cruel  memories  arose  in  her  mind,  and 
for  a  moment  she  forgot  why  she  was  there. 

"'Will  you  wait?'  asked  the  Swiss,  helping 
her  to  take  off  her  shubka.  When  he  saw  her 
face,  he  recognized  her,  and  bowed  profoundly. 
*  Will  your  ladyship  '  be  pleased  to  enter  'i  *  he 
said  to  her. 

"She  tried  to  speak;  but  her  voice  failed 
her,  and  with  an  entreating  look  at  the  old 
servant  she  rapidly  flew  up  the  stairs.  Kap- 
itonuitch  tried  to  overtake  her,  and  followed 
after  her,  catching  his  galoshes  at  every  step. 

"  *  Perhaps  his  tutor  is  not  dressed  yet :  I  will 
speak  to  him.' 

**  Anna  kept  on  up  the  stairs  which  she  knew 
so  well,  but  she  did  not  hear  what  the  old  man 
said. 

"  *  This  way.  Excuse  it  if  all  is  in  disorder. 
He  sleeps  in  the  front  room  now,'  said  the 
Swiss,  out  of  breath.  '  Will  your  ladyship  be 
good  enough  to  wait  a  moment  ?  I  will  go  and 
see.'  And  opening  the  high  door,  he  dis* 
appeared. 

*  Vasha  prevoskhoditelsivo  ;  literally,  Your  Excellency. 


312  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

*' Anna  stopped  and  waited. 

"*He  has  just  waked  up,*  said  the  Swiss, 
coming  back  through  the  same  door. 

"And  as  he  spoke,  Anna  heard  the  sound 
of  a  child  yawning,  and  merely  by  the  sound  of 
the  yawn  she  recognized  her  son,  and  seemed 
to  see  him  alive  before  her. 

'"Let  me  go  in  —  let  me!*  she  stammered, 
and  hurriedly  pushed  through  the  door. 

"  At  the  right  of  the  door  was  a  bed,  and  on 
the  bed  a  child*  was  sitting  up  in  his  little  open 
nightgown  ;  his  little  body  was  leaning  forward, 
and  he  was  just  finishing  a  yawn  and  stretching 
himself.  His  lips  were  just  closing  into  a  sleepy 
smile,  and  he  fell  back  upon  his  pillow  still 
smiling. 

"  *  Serozha !  *  she  murmured  as  she  went 
towards  him. 

"  Every  time  since  their  separation  that  she 
had  felt  an  access  of  love  for  the  absent  son, 
Anna  looked  upon  him  as  still  a  child  of  four, 
the  age  when  he  had  been  most  charming. 
Now  he  no  longer  bore  any  resemblance  to  him 
whom  she  had  left :  he  had  grown  tall  and  thin. 
How   long   his   face   seemed !     How  short  his 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  3^3 

hair  !  What  long  arms  !  How  he  had  changed  ! 
But  it  was  still  the  same,  —  the  shape  of  his 
head,  his  lips,  little  slender  neck,  and  his  broad 
shoulders. 

*'  *  Serozha  ! '  she  whispered  in  the  child's 
ear. 

"  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  turned  his 
frowzy  head  around,  and,  trying  to  put  things 
together,  opened  wide  his  eyes.  For  several 
seconds  he  looked  with  an  inquiring  face  at  his 
mother,  who  stood  motionless  before  him.  Then 
he  suddenly  smiled  with  joy ;  and  with  his  eyes 
still  half-closed  in  sleep,  he  threw  himself,  not 
back  upon  his  pillow,  but  into  his  mother's  arms. 

**  *  Serozha,  my  dear  little  boy ! '  she  stam- 
mered, choking  with  tears,  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  his  plump  body. 

"  *  Mamma  ! '  he  whispered,  cuddling  into  his 
mother's  arms  so  as  to  feel  their  encircling 
pressure.  Smiling  sleepily,  he  took  his  hand 
from  the  head  of  the  bed  and  put  it  on  his 
mother's  shoulder  and  climbed  into  her  lap, 
having  that  warm  breath  of  sleep  peculiar  to 
children,  and  pressed  his  face  to  his  mother's 
neck  and  shoulders. 


314  LYOF   TOLSTOI. 

*'  *  I  knew,'  he  said,  opening  his  eyes  ;  *  to-day 
is  my  birthday ;  I  knew  that  you  would  come. 
I  am  going  to  get  up  now.' 

*'  And  as  he  spoke  he  fell  asleep  again.  Anna 
devoured  him  with  her  eyes.  She  saw  how  he 
had  changed  during  her  absence.  She  would 
scarcely  have  known  his  long  legs  coming 
below  his  nightgown,  his  hollow  cheeks,  his 
short  hair  curled  in  the  neck  where  she  had  so 
often  kissed  it.  She  pressed  him  to  her  heart, 
and  the  tears  prevented  her  from  speaking. 

"'What  are  you  crying  for,  mamma .^'  he 
asked,  now  entirely  awake.  '  What  makes  you 
cry?'  he  repeated,  ready  to  weep  himself. 

**  *  I  .-*  I  will  not  cry  any  more  —  it  is  for  joy. 
It  is  all  over  now,'  said  she,  drying  her  tears 
and  turning  around.  ^ Nil !  go  and  get  dressed,' 
she  added,  after  she  had  grown  a  little  calmer, 
but  still  holding  Serozha's  hand.  She  sat  down 
near  the  bed  on  a  chair  which  held  the  child's 
clothing.  *  How  do  you  dress  without  me } 
How'  —  she  wanted  to  speak  simply  and  gayly, 
but  she  could  not,  and  again  she  turned  her 
head  away. 

*'  *  I  don't  wash  in  cold  water  any  more ;  papa 


LYOF  TOLSTOI'.  3^5 

has  forbidden  it :  but  you  have  not  seen  Vasili 
Lukitch  ?  Here  he  comes.  But  you  are  sitting 
on  my  things.'  And  Serozha  laughed  heartily. 
She  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

"  *  Mamma  !  dusheiika^  golubtchika  ! '  [dear 
little  soul,  darling],  he  cried  again,  throwing 
himself  into  her  arms,  as  though  he  now  better 
understood  what  had  happened  to  him,  as  he 
saw  her  smile. 

*'  *  Take  it  off,'  said  he,  pulling  off  her  hat. 
And  seeing  her  head  bare,  he  began  to  kiss  her 
again. 

** '  What  did  you  think  of  me  t  Did  you 
believe  that  I  was  dead } ' 

*"I  never  believed  it.* 

"  *  You  believed  me  alive,  my  precious.^ ' 

** '  I  knew  it  !  I  knew  it ! '  he  replied,  repeat- 
ing his  favorite  phrase ;  and,  seizing  the  hand 
which  was  smoothing  his  hair,  he  pressed  the 
palm  of  it  to  his  little  mouth,  and  began  to 
kiss  it." 

"Vasili  Lukitch,  meantime,  not  at  first  know- 
ing who  this  lady  was,  but  learning  from  their 
conversation  that  it  was  Serozha's  mother,  the 
woman   who   had   deserted    her   husband,    and 


3l6  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

whom  he  did  not  know,  as  he  had  not  come 
into  the  house  till  after  her  departure,  was  in 
great  perplexity.  Ought  he  to  tell  Aleksei 
Aleksandrovitch  ?  On  mature  reflection  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  duty  consisted 
in  going  to  dress  Serozha  at  the  usual  hour, 
without  paying  any  attention  to  a  third  person 
—  his  mother,  or  any  one  else.  But  as  he 
reached  the  door  and  opened  it,  the  sight  of 
the  caresses  between  the  mother  and  child,  the 
sound  of  their  voices  and  their  words,  made 
him  change  his  mind.  He  shook  his  head, 
sighed,  and  quietly  closed  the  door.  *  I  will 
wait  ten  minutes  longer,'  he  said  to  himself, 
coughing  slightly,  and  wiping  his  eyes. 

"  There  was  great  excitement  among  the  ser- 
vants; they  all  knew  that  the  baruina  had  come, 
and  that  Kapitonuitch  had  let  her  in,  and  that 
she  was  in  the  child's  room  ;  they  knew,  too, 
that  their  master  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to 
Serozha  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock :  each 
one  felt  that  the  husband  and  wife  ought  not  to 
meet,  that  it  must  be  prevented. 

**  Kornei,  the  valet,  went  down  to  the  Swiss 
to  ask  why  Anna  had  been  let  in ;   and  finding 


LVOF   TOLSTOI.  Z^7 

that  Kapitonuitch  had  taken  her  up-stairs,  he 
reprimanded  him  severely.  The  Swiss  main- 
tained an  obstinate  silence  till  the  valet  declared 
that  he  deserved  to  lose  his  place,  when  the  old 
man  jumped  at  him,  and  shaking  his  fist  in  his 
face,  said,  — 

"  'Da  !  Vot!  you  would  not  have  let  her  in 
yourself?  You've  served  here  ten  years,  and 
had  nothing  but  kindness  from  her,  but  you 
would  have  said,  "  Now,  go  away  from  here ! " 
You  know  what  policy  is,  you  sly  dog.  What 
you  don't  forget  is  to  rob  your  master,  and  to 
carry  off  his  raccoon-skin  sJmbas  !  * 

"  *  Soldier  ! '  replied  Kornei  scornfully  ;  and 
he  turned  towards  the  nurse,  who  was  coming 
in  just  at  this  moment.  *What  do  you  think, 
Marya  Yefimovna.'*  He  has  let  in  Anna  Arkad- 
yevna,  without  saying  any  thing  to  anybody, 
and  just  when  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch,  as  soon 
as  he  is  up,  will  be  going  to  the  nursery.' 

"  *  What  a  scrape  !  what  a  scrape  ! '  said  the 
nurse.  *  But,  Kornei  Vasilyevitch,  find  some 
way  to  keep  your  master,  while  I  run  to  warn 
her,  and  get  her  out  of  the  way.  What  a 
scrape ! ' 


3l8  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

"When  the  nurse  went  into  the  child's  room, 
Serozha  was  telling  his  mother  how  Nadenka 
and  he  had  fallen  when  sliding  down  a  hill  of 
ice,  and  turned  three  somersaults.  Anna  was 
listening  to  the  sound  of  her  son's  voice,  looking 
at  his  face,  watching  the  play  of  his  features, 
feeling  his  little  arms,  but  not  hearing  a  word 
that  he  said.  She  must  go  away,  she  must 
leave  him  :  this  alone  she  understood  and  felt. 
She  had  heard  Vasili  Lukitch's  steps,  and  his 
little  discreet  cough,  as  he  came  to  the  door, 
and  now  she  heard  the  nurse  coming  in  ;  but 
unable  to  move  or  to  speak,  she  remained  as 
fixed  as  a  statue. 

^^^Baruina!  Golubtchika !'  [mistress,  dar- 
ling], said  the  nurse,  coming  up  to  Anna,  and 
kissing  her  hands  and  her  shoulders.  *God 
sent  this  joy  for  our  birthday  celebration  !  You 
are  not  changed  at  all.' 

"  *  Ach  !  nurse  \ityanya\  my  dear  :  I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  in  the  house,'  said  Anna, 
coming  to  herself. 

"  *  I  don't  live  here  ;  I  live  with  my  daughter. 
I  came  to  give  my  best  wishes  to  Serozha, 
Anna  Arkady evna,  golubtchika.'  ■ 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  319 

"The  nurse  suddenly  began  to  weep,  and  to 
kiss  Anna's  hand. 

"  Serozha,  with  bright,  joyful  eyes,  and  hold- 
ing his  mother  with  one  hand  and  his  nurse 
with  the  other,  was  dancing  in  his  little  bare 
feet  on  the  carpet.  His  old  nurse's  tenderness 
towards  his  mother  was  delightful  to  him. 

" '  Mamma,  she  often  comes  to  see  me  ;  and 
when  she  comes' — he  began;  but  he  stopped 
short  when  he  perceived  that  the  nurse  whis- 
pered something  in  his  mother's  ear,  and  that 
his  mother's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  fear, 
and  at  the  same  time  of  shame. 

"Anna  went  to  him. 

*'  *  My  precious  ! '  she  said. 

"  She  could  not  say  the  word  *  farewell  * 
\proshchdi\ ;  but  the  expression  of  her  face  said 
it,  and  he  understood. 

"  *  My  precious,  precious  Kutik  ! '  she  said, 
calling  him  by  a  pet  name  which  she  used  when 
he  was  a  baby.  *  You  will  not  forget  me  ;  you  * 
—  but  she  could  not  say  another  word. 

"  Only  then  she  began  to  remember  the  words 
which  she  wanted  to  say  to  him,  but  now  it  was 
impossible    to    say    them.       Serozha,    however, 


320  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

understood  all  that  she  would  have  said :  he 
understood  that  she  was  unhappy,  and  that  she 
loved  him.  He  even  understood  what  the  nurse 
whispered  in  her  ear  :  he  heard  the  words  *  al- 
ways at  nine  o'clock ; '  and  he  knew  that  they 
referred  to  his  father,  and  that  his  mother  must 
not  meet  him.  He  understood  this,  but  one 
thing  he  could  not  understand :  why  did  her 
face  express  fear  and  shame  "i  .  .  .  She  was  not 
to  blame,  but  she  was  afraid  of  him,  and  seemed 
ashamed  of  something.  He  wanted  to  ask  a 
question  which  would  have  explained  this  cir- 
cumstance, but  he  did  not  dare :  he  saw  that 
she  was  in  sorrow,  and  he  pitied  her.  He 
silently  clung  close  to  her,  and  then  he  whis- 
pered, *  Don't  go  yet !  He  will  not  come  yet 
awhile.' 

"  His  mother  pushed  him  away  from  her  a 
little,  in  order  to  see  if  he  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  what  he  had  said  ;  and  in  the  frightened 
expression  of  his  face  she  perceived  that  he  not 
only  spoke  of  his  father,  but  seemed  to  ask  her 
how  he  ought  to  think  about  him. 

"'Serozha,  my  dear,'  she  said,  'love  him  ;  he 
is  better  than  I  am ;   and  I  have  been  wicked 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  321 

to  him.  When  you  have  grown  up,  you  will 
understand.' 

"  'No  one  is  better  than  you,'  cried  the  child, 
with  sobs  of  despair ;  and,  clinging  to  his  moth- 
er's shoulders,  he  squeezed  her  with  all  the 
force  of  his  little  trembling  arms. 

"  '  Dushenka,  my  darling  ! '  stammered  Anna; 
and,  bursting  into  tears,  she  sobbed  like  a  child, 
even  as  he  sobbed. 

"At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Vasfli 
Lukitch  came  in.  Steps  were  heard  at  the 
other  door ;  and,  in  a  frightened  whisper,  he 
exclaimed,  *  He  is  coming,'  and  gave  Anna  her 
hat. 

"Serozha  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  sobbing, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Anna 
took  them  away  to  kiss  yet  once  again  his  tear- 
stained  cheeks,  and  then  with  quick  steps  hur- 
ried from  the  room.  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch 
met  her  at  the  door.  When  he  saw  her,  he 
stopped  and  bowed  his  head. 

"  Though  she  had  declared  a  moment  before 
that  he  was  better  than  she,  the  swift  glance 
that  she  gave  him,  taking  in  his  whole  person, 
awoke  in  her  only  a  feeling  of  hatred  and  scorn 


322  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

for  him,  and  jealousy  on  account  of  her  son. 
She  hurriedly  lowered  her  veil,  and,  quickening 
her  step,  almost  ran  from  the  room.  She  had 
entirely  forgotten  in  her  haste  the  playthings 
which,  on  the  evening  before,  she  had  bought 
with  so  much  love  and  sadness  ;  and  she  took 
them  back  with  her  to  the  hotel." 

In  such  scenes,  in  such  moral  analyses,  as 
these,  it  is  necessary  to  look  for  the  meaning 
and  the  drift  of  "Anna  Karenina."  There  is 
also  in  the  conduct  of  the  husband,  the  states- 
man, Aleksei  Karenin,  a  constant  lesson  and 
significance  which  it  would  be  easy  to  verify 
with  *'  My  Religion  "  in  hand.  He  is  punished 
for  having  sacrificed  every  thing  to  his  ambi- 
tion, even  the  love  and  the  care  of  her  whom 
he  took  to  be  his  wife.  He  does  not  fight  a 
duel  with  Vronsky  because  he  lacks  courage, 
but,  above  all,  because  religion  lays  it  upon  him 
as  a  duty  not  to  strive  to  kill  his  neighbor. 
He  hates  his  guilty  wife,  even  to  the  point  of 
wishing  for  her  death,  and  of  feeling  disappoint- 
ment when  he  finds  her  alive  after  the  travail 
which  she  dreaded  so  keenly ;  but  his  heart 
softens  at  her  delirium,  at  the  words  of  repent- 


LYOF   TOLSTOI.  323 

ance  which  she  speaks  at  the  moment  which 
she  thinks  is  her  last :  he  forgives  her.  From 
the  day  when  he  has  tasted  the  divine  sweet- 
ness of  mercy,  he  is  another  man :  he  has 
found  the  meaning  of  life.  Henceforth  he  will 
apply  the  doctrine  of  Jesus  :  "*I  offer  my  other 
cheek  to  the  smiter ;  I  give  my  last  cloak  to 
him  who  has  robbed  me ;  I  ask  only  one  thing 
of  God,  that  he  will  not  take  from  me  the  joy 
of  forgiving.'  .  .  .  Karenin  rose :  sobs  choked 
his  voice.  Vronsky  rose  too,  and  standing  with 
bowed  head  and  humble  attitude,  looked  up  at 
Karenin  without  a  word  to  say.  He  was 
incapable  of  understanding  Aleksei  Aleksan- 
drovitch's  feelings  ;  but  he  felt  that  such  mag- 
nanimity was  above  him,  and  irreconcilable 
with  his  conception  of  life." 


324  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 


The  astonishment  felt  by  Vronsky  at  hearing 
Karenin's  words,  we  also  have  some  right  to 
feel  in  reading  Tolstofs  work  entitled  *'  My 
Religion."  This  work  is  a  socialistic  and  com- 
munistic interpretation  of  the  gospel.  The 
censorship  has  put  an  end  to  the  publication 
and  sale  of  it ;  but  it  cannot  prevent  the  manu- 
script from  passing  from  hand  to  hand ;  and, 
when  it  shall  have  succeeded  in  destroying  it, 
it  will  be  forever  unable  to  suppress  the  state 
of  mind  of  which  this  work  is  only  a  manifesta- 
tion, and  which  will  possibly  be  before  long  the 
state  of  mind  of  a  whole  people. 

It  is  possible  now,  if  it  ever  was,  by  looking 
towards  Russia,  to  find  in  the  spectacle  of  the 
moral  phenomena  there  going  on  an  answer  to 
the  question,  "  How  are  dogmas  born  .?  " 

It  was  remarked  long  ago  that  all  the  great 
convulsions   of    a   nation   are   followed   by   an 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  3^5 

increased  tendency  towards  mysticism  :  this  is 
manifested  in  Russia  more  than  elsewhere. 
For  example,  after  the  invasion  in  1812,  a  sort 
of  sectarian  eruption  followed  the  patriotic 
fever.  The  nmzJdk  had  bravely  burned  his 
harvest,  and  had  taken  arms  to  drive  out  the 
foreigner.  He  had  done  a  man's  work,  and  had 
been  given  to  understand,  that,  as  soon  as  the 
enemy  were  out  of  the  way,  the  grateful  country 
would  recognize  him  as  a  son  and  give  him  his 
freedom.  The  French,  burned  out  by  fire,  cut 
down  by  frost,'  retire,  sowing  the  path  of  their 
journey  back  with  corpses.  But  the  hour  of 
liberty  does  not  yet  strike.  The  affairs  of 
Europe  must  be  put  in  order  before  taking  hold 
of  the  muzhik's.  After  the  treaties  have  been 
signed,  after  the  armies  have  gone  home,  the 
rights  of  the  muzhik  remain  neglected,  and  his 
complaints  are  stifled.  His  despair  is  seen  in 
emigrations,  in  deeds  of  violence,  in  his  affilia- 
tion with  existing  sects,  in  the  formation  of 
a   new   social   and   religious   dogma.     At    that 

*  The  Russians,  after  the  retreat  of  the  French,  conferred  the 
epaulets  on  Jack  Frost :  it  was  said  that  General  Morozof  won  the 
victory  for  them.  —  N.  H.  D. 


326  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

moment  we  see  arise  for  the  first  time  the 
bogomol,  or  praying  men. 

In  the  last  quarter  of  the  century,  Russia 
has  experienced  a  storm  more  tremendous  than 
that  of  the  invasion  of  1812:  it  might  be  said 
that  the  face  of  the  country  was  transformed 
by  the  upheaval  in  the  condition  of  the  people. 

The  single  reign  of  Alexander  11.  saw  such 
facts  accomplished  as  the  abolition  of  serfdom  ; 
the  redivision  of  the  land ;  above  all,  the  in- 
crease in  the  taxes,  which  has  touched  the  peo- 
ple in  a  very  different  way  from  all  the  reforms. 
The  dominating  influence  of  wealth  has  grown 
more  and  more ;  a  great  net-work  of  railroads 
has  extended  over  the  country ;  the  maxim 
of  laissez  faire  and  laissez  passer  has  made 
its  way  into  the  Russian  village.  None  of 
these  changes  has  fully  succeeded,  or,  in  better 
words,  none  has  succeeded  as  yet.  In  periods 
of  transition,  it  is  the  feature  of  inconvenience 
that,  above  all,  attracts  attention,  and  more 
often  than  not  causes  the  advantageous  to  be 
overlooked.  Now,  here,  the  ill  has  often  sur- 
passed the  good.  Thus  in  the  regulation  of 
landed   property,  the   insufficiency  of   the  lots 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  3-7 

of  land  granted  the  mtczhik,  and  the  lack  of  pro- 
portion between  the  revenue  and  the  tax  im- 
posed, have  quickly  brought  the  small  cultivator 
back  into  dependence  upon  the  great  proprie- 
tor, and  serfage  has  re-appeared  in  disguise. 

As  to  the  administrative  reforms,  the  zemstvo, 
the  tribunal,  the  school,  all  this  has  scarcely 
made  any  impression  upon  the  people  except 
as  bringing  an  increase  in  the  tax,  expressed 
by  the  immemorial  formula  so  much  per  soul. 
The  taxes  coming  in  much  less  than  the  in- 
crease in  the  rates,  extreme  measures  have 
to  be  taken  to  obtain  the  payment  of  them. 
The  muzhik  has  only  one  way  of  escaping 
prosecution,  and  that  is  to  give  himself  over, 
body  and  soul,  to  the  usurer.  In  short  space 
of  time  the  misery  is  universal.  A  single  man 
gets  rich  at  the  expense  of  all  the  others :  it  is 
the  kulak  (the  fist),  the  monopolist. 

Bread  is  lacking  in  many  places.  In  its 
place  they  eat,  not  cake,  but  preparations  of 
straw,  bark,  or  grass,  all  that  which  is  called  by 
the  expressive  term  cheat-hunger.^     It  is  plain 

*  The  vtord  podspSrye  might  be  rendered  by  the  much  less  expres- 
sive periphrasis  "  the  succedanea  of  bread."  — Author's  note. 


328  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

to  see  that  the  muzhiks,  reduced  to  these  ex- 
tremities, lose  their  interest  in  a  society  which 
treats  them  a  little  less  kindly  than  if  they 
were  common  cattle.  All  that  they  know  of 
public  affairs  is  that  it  is  necessary  to  pay 
the  tax.  The  most  palpable  advantage  which 
they  get  from  the  time  spent  in  discussing  the 
common  interests  is  the  bumper  of  vodka  with 
which  discussions  are  kept  alive  :  thus  they  for- 
get themselves  for  a  few  hours. 

Then,  in  hatred  of  the  present,  minds  turn 
back  to  the  past,  and,  above  all,  yearn  eagerly 
for  the  future.  The  peasant's  naive  imagina- 
tion is  consoled  by  his  dreams  ;  the  ardor  of 
his  desires  is  spent  in  Utopias.  The  idea  of 
free  lands  haunts  these  enthusiastic  minds. 
The  story  is  secretly  whispered  about  of  the 
promises  made  by  the  Shah  of  Persia  to  emi- 
grants who  will  come  and  settle  in  his  domin- 
ions:  his  subjects  shall  pay  no  taxes  and  hav^e 
no  superiors.  Solid  masses  of  people  set  out 
suddenly,  and  depart  for  ''the  country  of  the 
white  waters."  There  it  is  that  the  popular 
ideal  is  to  be  realized.  Many  outlaw  them- 
selves without  leaving  their  residences,  and  re- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  3^9 

fuse  to  answer  any  of  their  obligations  towards 
the  commune  or  the  mir.  Others  take  refuge 
in  the  neighboring  forest,  go  and  settle  in  the 
desert,  in  the  steppe.  A  considerable  number 
go  on  pilgrimages  to  the  holy  places.  Finally, 
there  are  those  who  go  to  swell  the  class  of 
true  Nihilists  ;  that  is  to  say,  people  who  make 
their  lives  even  a  bold  negation  of  all  that  is 
accepted,  affirmed,  around  them,  —  the  class  of 
wanderers,  or  that  of  occults. 

The  attitude  of  these  refractory  men  and 
women  strikes  the  people,  and  is  not  slow  to 
inspire  them  with  a  respect  which  is  thus 
explained.  The  Russian  people's  heads  are 
stuffed  with  legends.  One  of  the  widest  spread 
is  that  of  the  centenarian  who  lives  in  the 
desert,  taking  no  other  food  than  a  consecrated 
wafer  once  a  week ;  and,  though  he  has  not  the 
slightest  notion  of  the  alphabet,  yet  he  reads 
the  Holy  Book,  the  book  with  the  leaves  of  gold, 
where  is  found  the  answer  to  every  question, 
the  rule  for  all  conduct.  We  see  now  how 
reality  and  legend  can  come  to  be  confounded. 
In  the  lonely  hut  where  this  hermit  dwells 
apart,  fitted  as  he  is   ordinarily  by  his  intelli- 


330  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

gence  and  his  will  for  the  exceptional  part 
which  he  is  going  to  perform,  he  allows  him- 
self endlessly  to  reflect  on  all  sorts  of  subjects. 
He  ruminates  at  his  leisure,  in  the  solitude, 
over  all  the  difficulties  of  the  life  from  which 
he  has  torn  himself  away.  He  gropes  after  his 
definition  of  things  good  and  of  things  evil ;  he 
slowly  builds  up  his  solemn  casuistry. 

The  peasants  one  after  another  take  the  road 
to  his  hermitage.  They  are  sure  of  bringing 
away  good  advice  about  disputed  cases.  Their 
cases  include  every  subject,  —  family  affairs, 
commune  affairs,  church  affairs.  Every  thing 
is  discussed,  exposed  to  the  cenobite's  criticism, 
to  his  interpretation.  It  is  a  matter  of  course 
that  religious  questions  fill  a  large  part  in  this 
programme,  worked  up  by  the  anxieties  of  the 
throng,  and  the  prophetic  explanations  of  the 
hermit.  But  the  programme  also  takes  up  eco- 
nomic or  social  questions.  It  prepares  for  the 
coming  of  a  new  law.  This  law  is  the  outcome 
of  a  duty,  and  this  duty  is  summed  up  in  the 
formula,  "To  live  according  to  justice;"  or, 
in  other  words,  "  according  to  the  will  of  God." 

The  schisms  formed,  as  we  have  just  seen,  are 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  33 1 

those  of  unimportant  people.  They  have  noth- 
ing in  common  with  those  which  the  irksome- 
ness  of  living  develops,  in  similar  lines,  in 
Russia,  among  the  upper  classes  of  the  nation. 
Quite  contrary  to  the  sects  born  in  the  aristoc- 
racy, the  schisms  among  the  common  people 
take  their  rise  in  the  need  of  existence.  They 
serve  the  instinct  which  impels  the  creature  to 
seek  not  only  life,  but  the  best  form  of  life. 
That  is  why  they  act  so  powerfully  on  the 
masses  ;  that  is  why  they  cross  time  and  space, 
making  proselytes,  apostles,  martyrs. 

The  surprising  thing  is  that  the  rich  and 
aristocratic  Count  Tolstof  should  become  the 
apostle  of  such  a  religion.  Like  the  sectaries 
of  the  rustic  class,  he  builds  a  complete  reli- 
gious, political,  and  social  system  upon  a  new 
interpretation  of  the  Gospels. 

His  religion,  properly  speaking,  takes  as  its 
foundation  the  maxim  of  the  Evangelist,  "  Re- 
sist not  the  one  that  is  evil."  And  it  is  not  in 
an  allegorical  sense,  it  is  by  the  letter,  that 
these  words  of  Jesus  must  be  understood.  The 
law  laid  down  by  Jesus'  disciples  is  precisely 
the  opposite  of   that  of   the   disciples   of   this 


332  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

world,  which  is  the  law  of  conflict.  This  doc- 
trine of  Jesus,  which  is  sure  to  give  peace  to 
the  world,  is  contained  wholly  in  five  command- 
ments :  — 

1.  Be  at  peace  with  everybody.  Do  not 
allow  yourself  to  consider  any  one  as  low  or 
stupid. 

2.  Do  not  violate  the  rights  of  wedlock.  Do 
not  commit  adultery. 

3.  The  oath  impels  men  to  sin.  Know  that 
it  is  wrong,  and  bind  not  yourselves  by  any 
promise. 

4.  Human  vengeance  or  justice  is  an  evil. 
Do  not,  under  any  pretext,  practise  it.  Bear 
with  insults,  and  render  not  evil  for  evil. 

5.  Know  that  all  men  are  brothers,  the  sons 
of  one  father.  Do  not  break  the  peace  with 
any  on  account  of  difference  of  nationality. 

By  putting  this  doctrine  into  practice,  man  can 
realize  a  happiness  in  life,  and  there  is  no  hap- 
piness in  life  except  in  this  path.  There  is  no 
immortality.  The  conception  of  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  dead,  according  to  Tolstoi',  is  the 
greatest  piece  of  barbarism. 

The  political  doctrine  derived  from  this  reli- 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  333 

gious  doctrine  admits  of  no  tribunals  or  armies 
or  national  frontiers. 

The  social  doctrine  to  which  we  must  be  led 
by  this  religious  and  political  dogma  is  the  sup- 
pression of  property,  and  the  proclamation  of 
communism.  Man  is  not  put  into  the  world 
that  others  should  work  for  him,  but  that  he 
himself  should  work  for  others.  He  alone  who 
works  shall  have  daily  bread. 

The  most  dangerous  enemy  of  society  is  the 
Church,  because  it  supports  with  all  its  power 
the  errors  which  it  has  read  into  its  interpreta- 
tion of  Jesus'  docftrine.  In  place  of  this  false 
light  of  Church  dogma,  which  misleads  believers 
and  lets  them  "go  into  the  pit,"  must  be  sub- 
stituted the  light  of  conscience ;  one's  whole 
conduct  must  be  irradiated  by  it,  by  submitting 
each  of  his  acts  to  the  approbation  of  the  judge 
which  we  feel  within  us,  "  in  our  inner  tribunal." 

To  succeed  in  leading  the  life  which  con- 
science may  approve,  what  is,  above  all,  neces- 
sary }  "  Do  not  lead  a  life  which  makes  it  so 
difficult  to  refrain  from  wrath,  from  not  com- 
mitting adultery,  from  not  taking* oaths,  from 
not   defending  yourself  by   violence,  from  not 


334  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

carrying  on  war :  lead  a  life  which  would  make 
all  that  difficult  to  do."  Do  not  crush  at  pleas- 
ure the  very  conditions  of  earthly  happiness ; 
do  not  break  the  bond  which  unites  man  to 
nature :  that  is  to  say,  lead  lives  so  as  to 
enjoy  **  the  sky,  the  sun,  the  pure  air,  the  earth 
covered  with  vegetation  and  peopled  with  ani- 
mals;" become  a  rustic  instead  of  being  the 
busy,  weary,  sickly  urban.  Return  to  the 
natural  law  of  labor,  —  of  labor  freely  chosen 
and  accomplished  with  pleasure,  of  physical 
labor,  the  source  of  appetite  and  sleep.  Have 
a  family,  but  have  the  joys  o!  it  as  well  as  the 
cares:  that  is,  keep  your  children  near  you; 
do  not  intrust  their  education  to  strangers  ;  do 
not  imprison  them  ;  do  not  drive  them  "  into 
physical,  moral,  and  intellectual  corruption." 
Have  free  and  affectionate  intercourse  with 
all  men,  whatever  their  rank,  their  nationality. 
"  The  peasant  and  wife  are  free  to  enter  into 
brotherly  relations  with  eighty  millions  of  work- 
ing-men, from  Arkhangel  to  Astrakhan,  without 
waiting  for  ceremony  or  introduction.  A  clerk 
and  his  wife  find  hundreds  of  people  who  are 
their  equals ;  but  the    clerks  of  higher  station 


LYOF  TOLSTOi.  335 

do  not  recognize  them  as  their  equals,  and  they 
in  their  turn  exclude  their  inferiors.  A  wealthy- 
man  of  society  and  his  wife  have  only  a  few 
score  families  of  equal  distinction,  all  the  others 
are  unknown  to  them.  The  cabinet  minister 
and  the  millionnaire  have  only  a  dozen  people 
as  rich  and  as  important  as  they  are.  For 
emperors  and  kings,  the  circle  is  still  narrower. 
Is  it  not  like  a  prison,  where  each  prisoner  in 
his  cell  has  relations  only  with  one  or  two 
jailers.^"  Finally,  live  in  a  community,  in 
hygienic  conditions,  with  moral  habits,  which 
bring  you  the  nearest  possible  to  that  ideal 
which  is  the  very  foundation  of  happiness, 
health  as  long  as  you  live,  death  without 
disease,  when  existence  has  reached  its  limit. 

The  higher  one  rises  in  the  social  scale,  the 
farther  one  departs  from  this  ideal.  The  picture 
which  Tolstoif  paints  of  the  physical  pains  and  tor- 
tures of  the  wealthy  and  of  the  aristocratic,  of 
those  whom  he  calls  **the  martyrs  of  the  religion 
of  the  world,"  is  remarkably  vigorous.  Rous- 
seau's declamation  against  the  pretended  benefits 
of  civilization  here  finds  a  powerful' interpreter. 

Does  that  mean  that  Tolstoi'  declaims  ?     No 


33^  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

one  is  more  in  earnest.  It  is  not  only  in  words 
that  he  declares  war  on  the  organization  of 
society  recognized  and  defended  by  the  govern- 
ment of  his  country.  He  puts  the  doctrine 
into  practice  ;  he  is  ready  to  suffer  all  things  to' 
affirm  the  cause  of  Jesus.  His  refusal  to  take 
an  oath,  which  is  one  of  the  articles  of  his 
creed,  has  already  brought  upon  him  a  condem- 
nation from  one  of  those  tribunals  which  he 
himself  condemns  in  the  name  of  the  maxim  of 
the  Gospels,  ''Judge  not."  It  is  not  credible 
that  the  old  hero  of  the  wars  of  the  Caucasus 
and  Crimea  compels  his  son  to  refuse  military 
service,  as  was  done  once  by  the  son  of 
Sutafef,  the  raskolnik  of  Tver.  He  would 
have  liked  to  strip  himself  of  his  property,  in 
order  to  conform  to  the  socialistic  dogma  for- 
bidding inheritance  and  property.  He  was 
hindered  only  by  the  fear  of  trampling  upon 
the  liberty  and  the  conscience  of  others.  But 
amid  the  luxury  of  his  family  Count  Tolstot 
lives  the  life  of  a  poor  man.  He  has  dropped 
his  pen  as  a  novelist.'     Clad  like  a  umzhik,  he 

'  At  last  accounts,  the  reports  about  Count  Tolstoi's  vagaries 
were  found  to  be  idle  exaggerations  :  he  is  living  on  his  estate,  like  a 
reasonable  man,  studying  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and  writing  short 
stories.  —  N.  H.  D. 


LYOF  TOLSTOI.  337 

wields  the  scythe  or  drives  the  plough  ;  between 
seedtime  and  harvest,  he  preaches  his  evangel. 

I  do  not  wish  either  to  spread  or  to  confute 
his  teaching :  for  me  it  is  sufficient  to  have 
given  the  reader  an  idea  of  it.  Let  him  not 
show  the  characteristic  behavior  of  a  French 
reader ;  let  him  not  hasten  to  see  in  Count 
Tolstoi's  latest  attitude  a  sign  of  aberration. 
This  attitude  in  his  country  is  shared  by  a  mul- 
titude of  men.  The  single  religious  sect  of 
SJialaputid  (Extravagants),  preaching  and  prac- 
tising a  communistic  gospel  like  Tolstoi',  has, 
within  a  score  of  years,  won  over  all  the  com- 
mon people,  all  the  rustic  class,  of  the  south 
and  south-west  of  Russia.  Judicious  observers, 
well-informed  economists,  foresee  the  complete 
and  immedate  spread  of  the  doctrine  in  the 
lower  classes  throughout  the  empire.'  The 
day  when  the  work  of  propagation  shall  be 
finished,  the  raskolniks  of  a  special  socialistic 
dogma    will    be    counted :    their    number    will 

'  In  1882  a  Russian  writer,  Mr.  Abramof,  published,  in  The 
Annals  of  the  Country,  a  very  curious  study  of  the  Shalafutui. 
Turgenief  was  greatly  struck  by  it.  He  said  in  regard  to  it :  "  There 
is  the  peasant  getting  up  steam ;  before  long  he  will  make  a  general 
up-turning."  —  Author'' s  Note. 


33^  LYOF  TOLSTOI. 

suffice  to  show  their  power.  That  day,  if  they 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  act,  will  only  have  — 
using  the  popular  expression  —  "to  blow"  on 
the  old  order  of  things,  to  see  it  vanish  away. 


APPENDIX. 


As  M.  Dupuy  does  not  pretend  to  give  any 
thing  more  than  a  hasty  r^sumi  of  biographical 
facts,  the  reader  may  like  to  have  for  reference 
a  more  definite  and  fuller  account  of  the  lives 
of  the  three  great  authors  whose  literary  work 
has  been  analyzed.  The  main  authority  which 
I  have  consulted  has  been  P.  Polevoi's  "History 
of  Russian  Literature,  in  Sketches  and  Biog- 
raphies" [Istoriya  Rtissko'i  Literatiirui  f  Otcher- 
kakh  i  Biografyakh,  fourth  edition,  published  in 
1883.]  Some  of  his  dates  differ  slightly  from 
those  commonly  accepted.  How  far  a  man's 
judgment  is  to  be  accepted  who  writes  with  the 
fear  of  the  censor  in  his  eyes,  is  a  question;  but 
there  are  a  few  quotations  in  Polevoi'  which  are 
surprising  in  their  liberality.  The  work  is  a 
valuable  compound  of  literary  fact  and  criti- 
cism, and  it  is  illustrated  with  capital  woodcuts. 

Nikolaf    Vasily^vitch    Gogol-Yanovsky    was 

339 


340  APPENDIX. 

born  on  the  31st  of  March,  1809  (N.S.),  in  the 
little  town  of  Sorotchintsui,  in  the  Government 
of  Poltava.  His  father,  Vasili  Afanasyevitch 
Gogol,  was  the  son  of  a  regimental  clerk  :  at  the 
time  when  the  Zaporog  Cossacks  were  still  in 
existence,  this  position  was  considered  highly- 
respectable.  Only  two  generations  separated 
Gogol  from  the  time  of  the  Cossack  wars  ;  and 
his  grandfather,  the  regimental  clerk,  used  to 
relate  to  his  family  a  great  many  stories  of  that 
time.  Gogol  was  surrounded,  from  his  earliest 
childhood  by  a  life  that  was  hardly  freed  from 
its  mediaeval,  warlike,  half-wild  character.  It 
was  full  of  fresh  recollections  of  the  olden 
times,  of  legends  and  war-songs ;  it  was  a  life 
in  which  religious  fervor  was  intermingled  with 
a  swarm  of  popular  prejudices.  Gogol's  grand- 
father was  a  lively  representative  of  the  just 
vanishing  past,  and  not  in  vain  does  Gogol 
speak  about  him  often  in  his  Vetchei'a  na  Khu- 
torye  (Evenings  at  the  Farm).  Gogol  was  in- 
debted to  his  grandfather  for  at  least  half  of  his 
Malo-Russian  tales.  "  My  grandfather,"  he  says, 
in  his  sketch  in  his  Vetcher  Nakanunya  Ivdna 
Kiipdla  ("  The   Eve  of  Ivan   Kupalo's   Day  "). 


APPENDIX.  341 

*'  My  grandfather  (may  he  prosper  in  heaven  ! 
may  he  eat  in  the  other  world  little  wheaten 
rolls,  with  poppy  seeds  and  honey ! )  was  able 
to  tell  stories  in  a  wonderful  way.  When  he 
told  stories,  I  would  sit  the  whole  day  without 
moving  from  my  place,  and  never  cease  to  lis- 
ten. ...  It  was  not  so  much  the  marvellous 
tales  of  the  olden  time,  about  the  invasions  of 
the  Zaporozhtsui  (Cossacks)  and  the  Poles,  about 
the  brave  deeds  of  the  old  heroes  (Polkova, 
Poltor-Kozhukh,  and  Sagaidatchnui),  that  inter- 
ested us,  as  the  legends  about  some  olden  deed, 
which  used  to  make  the  shudders  run  down  my 
back,  and  my  hair  stand  on  end.  Sometimes 
my  fear  would  be  so  great  from  them,  that 
every  thing  would  appear  to  me  like  God  knows 
what  monsters." 

While  his  grandfather  was  a  representative 
of  the  vanishing  past,  his  father,  Vasfli  Afanas- 
y^vitch,  appeared  as  the  representative  of  mod- 
ern times.  He  was  a  well-read  man  and  full  of 
experience,  was  fond  of  literature,  subscribed  to 
magazines,  and  at  the  same  time  was  endowed 
with  a  gift  of  relating  stories,  and  of  enhancing 
them    with    Malo-Russian    humor.     His    farm, 


342  APPENDIX. 

Vasilyevka,  was  the  centre  of  society  for  the 
district.  Among  the  varied  festivals  in  this 
farm,  Gogol's  father  used  often  to  get  up  pri- 
vate theatricals.  At  these  spectacles  they  used 
to  give  Kotlyarevsky's  just  published  comedy 
Natalka  Poltavka  ("The  Girl  from  Poltava"), 
and  Moskal  Tcharivnik  ("  The  Charming  Mus- 
covite"). Thus  Gogol  was  early  attracted  to 
the  stage. 

Gogol's  father  wrote,  in  imitation  of  Kotlyar- 
evsky,  several  comedies  which  were  played  at 
Vasilyevka.  Gogol  was  taught  to  read  at  home 
by  a  hired  seminarist.  Afterwards  he  was  taken, 
with  his  younger  brother  Ivan,  to  Poltava,  where 
he  was  taught  by  one  of  the  teachers  of  the 
gymnasium.  While  the  children  were  at  home 
on  their  vacation,  Ivan  died ;  and  Gogol  was  not 
sent  back  to  Poltava,  but  remained  for  some 
time  at  home.  Meantime,  the  governor  of 
Thernigof,  the  prokiiror  (attorney-general)  Ba- 
zhanof,  informed  Gogol's  father  about  the  open- 
ing at  Niezhin,  of  a  gymnasium  for  higher 
learning,  founded  by  Prince  Bezborodko,  and 
advised  him  to  place  his  son  in  the  boarding- 
school   connected  with   the  gymnasium.     This 


APPENDIX.  343 

was  done  in  May,  1821.  Gogol  entered  as  a 
paying  pupil,  and  at  the  end  of  a  year  he  re- 
ceived the  government  scholarship.  It  cannot 
be  said  that  Gogol  was  much  indebted  to  this 
gymnasium  of  the  higher  education,  or  that 
he  gained  there  any  solid  knowledge  of  any 
kind  whatsoever,  even  in  the  very  elementary 
branches.  He  studied  his  lessons  very  super- 
ficially ;  but  as  he  had  a  good  memory  he  got 
a  smattering  of  the  lectures,  and,  by  studying 
hard  just  before  the  examinations,  he  was  pro- 
moted in  due  time.  He  especially  disliked 
mathematics,  and  he  had  a  very  slight  incli- 
nation even  for  the  study  of  languages.  After 
graduation  he  could  not  read  a  French  book 
without  a  dictionary.  Against  German  and 
English  he  had  a  curious  spite.  He  used  to 
say,  in  jest,  that  he  did  not  believe  that  Schiller 
or  Goethe  knew  German;  "surely  they  must 
have  written  in  some  other  language." 

The  slight  progress  made  by  Gogol  in  the 
modern  languages  was  more  than  rivalled  by 
his  backwardness  in  the  classic  tongues.  *'  He 
studied  with  me  three  years/'  says  Kulzhinsky, 
Gogol's  Latin  teacher  at  the  Niezhin   gymna- 


344  APPENDIX. 

sium,  in  his  "Reminiscences,"  "and  he  could 
not  learn  any  thing  except  the  translation  of 
the  first  sentence  of  the  "  Chrestomathie "  by 
means  of  Koshansky's  grammar,  '  Universus 
mundus  plerumque  distribuitur  in  duas  partes, 
coelum  et  terram '  (for  which  he  was  nicknamed 
M7iiversiLs  immdiis).  During  the  lectures,  Gogol 
used  to  hide  some  book  or  other  under  his  desk, 
paying  heed  neither  to  cceluin  nor  terram.  I 
must  confess  that  neither  under  me  nor  under 
my  colleagues  did  he  learn  any  thing.  The 
school  taught  him  only  some  logical  formality 
and  directness  of  understanding  and  thought; 
and,  more  than  that,  he  learned  nothing  with  us." 
Not  even  the  Russian  language  was  accu- 
rately learned  by  Gogol  in  the  gymnasium  of 
the  higher  sciences,  according  to  the  testimony 
of  his  biographer.  "  His  school  letters,"  says 
he,  "  can  be  distinguished  by  the  absence  of  all 
rules  of  orthography.  To  make  them  plainer, 
I  used  to  arrange  the  punctuation-marks  as  it 
was  necessary ;  I  used  to  change  the  capital 
letters,  of  which  he  was  very  extravagant ;  and 
I  often  corrected  his  blunders  in  the  endings 
of  adjectives." 


APPENDIX.  345 

The  only  thing  that  Gogol  acquired  in  the 
gymnasium  was  the  art  of  drawing,  and  his 
letters  to  his  relatives  prove  that  he  took  great 
pleasure  in  spending  much  time  in  this  art. 

As  he  was  towards  the  bottom  of  his  class  in 
his  studies,  he  was  at  the  same  time  greatly 
distinguished  by  his  love  of  mischief  ;  and  he 
was  a  great  favorite  with  every  one.  His  com- 
rades were  especially  drawn  to  him  by  his  inex- 
haustible humor.  Even  in  childhood  could  be 
seen  in  him  his  spontaneous  wit ;  and  at  the 
same  time,  no  one  could  copy  or  imitate  a 
character  as  well  as  the  little  Gogol. 

He  was  an  indefatigable  reader.  He  espe- 
cially liked  Pushkin  and  Zhukovsky.  His  par- 
ents subscribed  to  the  Vyestnik  Ycvropid 
("  Messenger  of  Europe  "),  and  the  reading  of 
this  and  the  almanacs  aroused  in  him  a  desire 
to  write.  At  first  this  came  in  the  form  of 
parodies.  While  he  was  at  Ni^zhin,  a  certain 
scholar  showed  some  signs  of  poetical  passion  ; 
and  Gogol  collected  this  fellow's  verses,  and 
put  them  in  the*Torm  of  an  almanac,  which  he 
called  Parrtassky  Navoz  ("  Manure  from  Parnas- 
sus ").     These  parodies    suggested   to   him   to 


34^  APPENDIX. 

publish  a  serious  written  journal,  and  his  enter- 
prise cost  him  great  trouble.  He  had  to  write 
articles  on  all  subjects,  and  then  copy  them, 
and,  what  was  more  important,  to  make  a  vol- 
ume out  of  them.  He  spent  whole  nights  try- 
ing to  decide  upon  his  titlepagCj  on  which  was 
ornamented  the  name  of  his  journal  "The  Star" 
{Zvyczdd).  It  was  all  done  stealthily,  without 
the  knowledge  of  his  friends.  Early  in  the 
month,  the  journal  made  its  first  appearance. 
In  "The  Star"  were  published  Gogol's  story, 
"The  Tverdislavitch  Brothers,"  which  was  an 
imitation  of  contemporary  fiction,  and  some  of 
his  poems.  In  Gogol's  lofty  style,  which  he 
now  affected,  he  also  wrote  a  tragedy,  "The 
Murderers"  {Razboiniki)  and  a  ballad,  "Two 
Little  Fish "  {Dve  Ruibki),  touching  on  the 
death  of  his  brother.  He  also  wrote  at  this 
time  "  Hans  Kiichel-Garten,"  a  rhymed  idyl, 
which  tells  how  an  ideal  young  man  leaves  his 
sweetheart  through  his  thirst  for  grandeur,  but, 
after  vain  wandering,  returns  again  to  his  home, 
and  shares  with  his  love  happiness  under  a  straw 
thatch.  Gogol's  comic  talent,  however,  in  spite 
of  his  belief  in  a  lofty  style,  began  to  find  means 


APPENDIX.  347 

of  expression.  Thus,  among  other  things,  he 
wrote  a  satire  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  town 
of  Niezhin,  under  the  title  "  Something  about 
Niezhin ;  or,  no  Law  for  Fools,"  in  which  he 
depicts  the  typical  people  of  the  town.  It  was 
divided  into  five  parts,  — "  The  Dedication  of 
the  Church  in  the  Greek  Cemetery,"  "  The 
Election  to  the  Greek  Magistracy,"  "  Swallow- 
ing-all  Fair,"  "  The  Dinner  to  the  Predvoditel 
of  the  Nobility,"  and  "The  Coming  and  Going  of 
the  Students." 

On  returning  once  to  the  gymnasium  after 
his  vacation,  Gogol  wrote  a  comedy  in  Malo- 
Russian,  which  was  played  in  his  father's  thea- 
tre ;  and  thus  he  made  his  debut  as  a  director 
and  actor. 

Blackboards  served  as  scenes,  and  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  costumes  was  made  up  by  imagination. 
Then  the  schoolboys  clubbed  together,  and  got 
scenery  and  costumes,  copying  what  Gogol  had 
seen  in  his  father's  theatre,  the  only  one  that  he 
had  ever  attended.  The  direction  of  the  gymna- 
sium, wishing  to  encourage  the  study  of  French, 
introduced  pieces  in  that  tongue ;  and  the  re- 
pertory  of   the   little   school   theatre  soon  was 


34^  APPENDIX. 

composed  of  comedies  by  Moliere,  Florian,  Von 
Vizin,  Kotzebue,  Kniaznin,  and  Malo-Russian 
authors.  The  townspeople  heard  about  the 
theatre,  and  it  soon  became  very  popular ;  and 
a  few  years  ago  people  were  still  living  in 
Niezhin  who  could  remember  how  successfully 
Gogol  took  the  role  of  old  women. 

Towards  the  end  of  his  course,  Gogol  and  his 
comrades  subscribed  quite  a  sum  of  money,  and 
bought  a  library,  which  contained  the  works  of 
Delvig,  Pushkin,  Zhukovsky,  and  other  distin- 
guished contemporaries,  and  subscribed  to  sev- 
eral journals.  Gogol  was  made  librarian.  He 
was  so  indefatigable  that  he  made  every  person 
who  took  a  book  finish  it,  and  so  careful  of  their 
cleanliness  that  he  used  to  wrap  up  the  fingers 
of  his  readers  in  paper. 

Gogol  graduated  in  1828,  with  the  rank  of  the 
fourteenth  tchin.  Even  at  this  time  he  was  very 
religious,  as  can  be  seen  in  his  correspondence 
with  his  relatives.  "After  the  death  of  his 
father,  in  1825,  he  writes  to  his  mother,  'Don't 
be  worried,  my  dearest  mdmenka.  I  have  borne 
this  shock  with  the  strength  of  a  Christian.  It 
is  true,  at  first  I  was  overwhelmed  with  this 


APPENDIX.  349 

terrible  tidings.  However,  I  did  not  let  any- 
body see  that  I  was  so  sorrowful ;  but,  in  my 
own  room,  I  was  given  over  mightily  to  unrea- 
sonable despair.  I  even  wanted  to  take  my  life. 
But  God  kept  me  from  it.  And  towards  even- 
ing, I  noticed  only  sorrow,  but  not  a  passionate 
sorrow;  and  it  gradually  turned  into  an  uneasy, 
hardly  noticeable  melancholy,  mingled  with  a 
feeling  of  gratitude  to  Almighty  God.  I  bless 
thee,  holy  faith !  In  thee  only  I  find  a  source 
of  consolation  and  compensation  for  my  bitter 
grief.'  " 

At  the  same  time  he  was  a  fiery  enthusiast ; 
he  imagined  himself  a  great  benefactor  of  his 
fatherland.  For  this  reason  he  felt  inclined  to 
a  governmental  situation.  He  wrote  his  mother 
in  1828  that  he  was  not  understood:  some,  he 
said,  took  him  to  be  a  genius ;  others,  to  be  a 
stupid.  He  tried  to  be  one  of  the  romanti- 
cists ;  and,  like  all  of  those  budding  geniuses, 
he  thought  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  put  up 
with  from  people.  In  the  same  letter  he  writes 
his  mother  how  much  ungratefulness,  coldness, 
vexation,  he  had  been  obliged  to  bear  without 
complaint  and  without  grumbling.     He  writes 


350  APPENDIX. 

one  of  his  friends  that  the  people  of  Niezhin, 
not  excepting  "our  dear  instructors,"  have 
heaped  upon  our  genius  the  pressing  heaps  of 
their  earthiness,  and  crushed  us."  Two  features 
of  Gogol's  life  at  this  time  are  interesting  as 
showing  his  development,  —  a  tendency  to  as- 
ceticism, which  led  him  to  a  stern  self-restraint, 
turning  all  the  pleasures  and  interests  of  his 
life  to  a  spiritual  and  intellectual  sphere.  "'My 
plan  of  my  life,"  he  writes  to  his  mother  in 
1829,  "is  wonderfully  stern  and  exact.  Every 
kopek  has  its  place.  I  refuse  myself  even  very 
extreme  necessities,  with  a  view  of  being  able 
to  keep  myself  in  the  position  which  I  am  now, 
so  that  I  can  satisfy  my  desire  of  seeing  and 
feeling  the  beautiful  {prekrdsnoe).  With  this 
view  I  lay  up  all  my  annual  allowance,  except 
what  is  absolutely  necessary." 
/  In  1829  Gogol  first  went  to  Petersburg,  where, 
in  spite  of  his  vivid  dreams  of  success  and  glory, 
he  found  the  hard  realities  of  life,  and  met  with 
discouraging  failures.  He  wrote  his  mother : 
"  Everywhere  I  met  with  disappointments  ;  and, 
what  is  strangest  of  all,  I  met  them  when  I  least 
expected  them.     Men  entirely  incapable,  with- 


APPEIVDIX.  351 

out  any  letters  of  introduction  whatever,  easily 
succeeded  where  I,  even  with  the  aid  of  my 
patrons,  failed."  He  also  fell  in  love  with  a 
girl  of  high  rank ;  and  in  his  letter  to  his  moth- 
er he  speaks  about  it,  but  does  not  mention  her 
name  :  "  For  God's  sake,  don't  ask  her  name. 
She  is  very,  very  high.  .  .  .  No,  it  is  not  love  :  I, 
at  least,  never  heard  of  such  a  love.  Under  the 
impulse  of  madness  and  horrible  torments  of 
the  soul,  I  was  thirsty  to  intoxicate  myself  only 
with  the  sight  of  her,  only  the  sight  of  her  I 
looked  for.  To  look  upon  her  once  more  was 
my  only  desire,  which  grew  stronger  with  an 
unspeakable,  gnawing  anguish.  I  looked  upon 
myself  with  horror,  and  I  saw  all  my  horrible 
situation.  Every  thing  in  the  world  was  strange 
to  me,  life  and  death  were  equally  intolerable, 
and  my  soul  could  not  account  for  its  impulses." 
His  mental  state  arising  from  all  these  dis- 
appointments became  so  serious  that  he  went 
abroad  with  money  that  his  mother  sent  him  to 
pay  a  mortgage  on  their  estate,  and  told  his 
rtiother  to  take  his  portion  of  the  estate  in  ex- 
change for  it.  He  went  to  Ltibeck  by  sea,  staid 
there  a  month,  took  a  few  baths,  and  returned 


352  APPENDIX. 

to  Petersburg  without  seeing  any  thing  more  of 
Europe.  At  all  events,  he  returned,  sobered, 
refreshed,  and  strengthened,  in  September,  1829. 
In  April,  1830,  Gogol  found  a  very  insignifi- 
cant place  in  the  ministry  of  Appanages.  The 
whole  outcome  of  this  year  of  servitude  was 
the  knowledge  of  tying  up  papers,  and  a  vivid 
memory  of  various  types  of  TcJiinovniks  which 
he  used  to  advantage  in  his  works  later  on. 

In  1829  he  wrote  his  poem  ''Italy,"  and  sent 
it  anonymously  to  the  publisher  of  Suin  Otet- 
chestva  (Son  of  the  Fatherland.)  Soon  after- 
wards he  published  "  Hans  Kiichel  -  Garten," 
which  had  been  written  while  he  was  in  the 
gymnasium.  It  was  signed  Alof,  and  brought  a 
review  full  of  unmerciful  ridicule.  This  review 
cut  Gogol  so  keenly  that  he  immediately  with- 
drew the  story  from  circulation.  Buying  up  all 
the  copies  that  he  could  get  hold  of,  he  hired  a 
room  in  a  hotel,  and  made  a  grand  holocaust  of 
them.  The  last  tendencies  of  his  immature,  imi- 
tative romanticism  went  up  with  the  incense  of 
the  fire  and  smoke.  He  soon  saw  that  a  new 
spirit  was  invading  Russian  literature :  histori- 
cal novels  were  becoming  fashionable.    So  Gogol 


APPENDIX.  353 

writes  to  all  his  friends  and  relatives  in  Malo- 
Russia  to  send  him  every  possible  scrap  about 
the  history  of  that  region,  about  the  habits, 
manners,  customs,  legends,  games,  songs,  of  the 
Cossacks.  "  It  is  very,  very  necessary  for  me," 
he  would  add.  He  was  working  over  his  "  Even- 
ings on  the  Farm  near  Dikanka."     In  February, 

1830,  there  appeared  anonymously  in  the  Otet- 
chestvejiniiie  Zapiski  one  of  Gogol's  tales,  enti- 
tled •*  Bassavriuk ;  or,  Ivan  Kupala's  Eve."     In 

1 83 1,  in  "  Northern  Flowers,"  appeared  a  chap- 
ter of  his  historical  novel  "Hetman,"  signed 
with  four  zeros.  In  the  first  number  of  the 
*' Literary  Gazette"  he  published  a  sketch  from 
his  Malo-Russian  story,  Strashnui  Kaban  (The 
Terrible  Boar).  He  also  wrote  serious  articles 
and  translations. 

In  March,  1831,  he  was  made  teacher  of  Rus- 
sian in  the  Patriotic  Institute.  Here,  instead  of 
teaching  Russian,  he  taught  history,  geography, 
and  international  history ;  and  when  he  was 
called  to  account  for  his  vagaries,  and  was  asked 
when  he  was  going  to  teach  the  Russian  lan- 
guage, he  smiled,  and  said,  "  What  do  you  want 
it  for,  gentlemen  .-*     The  main  thing  in  Russian 


354  APPENDIX. 

is  to  know  the  difference  between  y^  and  yat 
[two  similarly  sounding,  but  differently  written, 
letters],  and  that  I  perceive  you  know  already, 
as  is  seen  by  your  copy-books.  No  one  can 
teach  you  to  write  smoothly  and  gracefully. 
This  power  is  granted  by  nature,  but  not  by 
instruction." 

Indeed,  Gogol  himself,  to  his  dying  day,  was 
not  able  to  spell  correctly.  He  cared  more  for 
the  spirit  than  the  form.  The  publication  of 
*' Evenings  on  the  Farm,"  especially  the  sec- 
ond series,  which  are  marked  by  the  purest 
humor,  without  a  shade  of  melancholy,  imme- 
diately placed  him  in  the  front  rank  of  the 
authors  of  his  day;  and  this  was  the  happi- 
est epoch  of  his  life.  Soon  afterwards  he  be- 
gan to  feel  a  re-action.  In  1833  he  wrote  to 
Pogodin  :  "  Let  my  stories  be  doomed  to  obliv- 
ion till  something  really  solid,  great,  artistic, 
shall  come  out  of  me.  But  I  stand  idle,  motion- 
less. I  don't  want  to  do  any  thing  trivial,  and 
I  can't  think  of  any  thing  great."  He  then 
betook  himself  to  historical  investigation,  and 
determined  to  write  the  history  of  Malo-Russia 
and    of   the    Middle    Ages.      He    laid    out   the 


APPENDIX.  355 

work  on  a  colossal  scale.  He  wrote  to  Mak- 
sfmof,  "  I  am  writing  the  history  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  I  think  it  will  fill  eight  volumes,  if 
not  nine."  He  never  finished  these  histories, 
but  his  study  of  Malo-Russia  led  him  to  the 
composition  of  his  great  epos  '*  Taras  Bulba." 

There  happened  to  be  a  vacancy  in  the  uni- 
versity of  St.  Vladimer  in  Kief.  Some  one 
suggested  Gogol,  and  he  was  invited  to  apply. 
He  came,  he  saw,  and  he  conquered  the  man  in 
whose  hands  the  appointment  lay,  by  his  won- 
derful flow  of  brilliant  conversation ;  but  he 
brought  no  documents.  He  was  requested  to 
come  again,  with  his  documents  and  application. 
Again  he  appeared,  and  again  he  dazzled  by  his 
wit ;  but  when  he  was  asked  for  his  documents 
he  pulled  from  his  inside  pocket  his  certificate 
of  graduation  from  the  gymnasium,  which  gave 
him  the  right  to  a  tchin  of  the  fourteenth  class, 
and  an  application  for  the  chair  of  Ordinary 
Professor.  He  was  told  that  it  was  impossible, 
with  such  credentials,  for  him  to  be  given  any 
thing  more  than  the  chair  of  adjunct.  Gogol  was 
obstinate,  and  absolutely  refused  to  take  that 
position.     Shortly  after,  he  was  appointed  pro- 


35^  APPENDIX. 

fessor  at  Petersburg,  where  he  gave  the  one  lec- 
ture which  was  so  beautiful.  *'We  awaited  the 
next  lecture  with  impatience,"  says  Ivanitsky, 
who  was  a  pupil  at  that  time  ;  "  Gogol  came  in 
very  late,  and  began  with  the  phrase  :  *  Asia 
was  a  volcano  belching  forth  people.'  Then 
he  spoke  a  few  words  about  the  emigration  of 
nations  ;  but  it  was  so  dull,  lifeless,  and  desul- 
tory that  it  was  tedious  to  listen  to  him,  and  we 
could  not  believe  that  it  was  the  same  Gogol 
who  had  spoken  so  beautifully  the  week  before. 
Finally  he  mentioned  a  few  books  where  we 
could  read  up  the  subject,  and  bowed  and  left. 
The  whole  lecture  lasted  twenty  minutes.  The 
following  lectures  were  of  the  same  stamp  ;  so 
that  we  became  entirely  cool  to  him,  and  the 
classes  became  smaller  and  smaller.  But  once, 
—  it  was  October,  —  while  walking  up  and 
down  the  hall  of  assembly,  and  waiting  for 
him,  suddenly  Pushkin  and  Zhukovsky  came 
in.  They  knew,  of  course,  through  the  Swiss, 
that  Gogol  had  not  yet  come ;  and  so  they 
only  asked  us  in  which  room  he  would  read. 
We  showed  them  the  auditorium.  Pushkin  and 
Zhukovsky  looked  in,  but  did  not  enter.     They 


APPENDIX.  357 

waited  in  the  hall  of  assembly.  In  quarter  of 
an  hour  the  lecturer  came ;  and  we,  following 
the  three  poets,  entered  the  auditorium  and  sat 
down.  Gogol  took  his  chair,  and  suddenly, 
without  any  warning,  began  to  read  the  history 
of  the  Arabians.  The  lecture  was  brilliant, 
exactly  in  the  manner  of  the  first.  Word  for 
word  it  was  published  in  the  *  Arabesques.' 
It  was  evident  that  he  knew  beforehand  the 
intention  of  the  poets  to  come  to  his  lecture, 
and  therefore  he  prepared  himself  to  treat 
them  like  poets.  After  the  lecture  Pushkin 
said  something  to  Gogol,  but  the  only  word  I 
heard  was  *  fascinating '  {tivlekdtelno).  The 
rest  of  his  lectures  were  very  dry  and  tedious. 
Not  one  historical  personage  caused  any  lively 
and  enthusiastic  discussion.  .  .  .  He  looked 
upon  the  dead  nations  of  the  past  with  dreary 
eyes,  as  it  were ;  and  it  was  doubtless  true 
that  it  was  tedious  to  him,  and  he  saw  that  it 
was  tedious  to  his  hearers.  He  used  to  come 
and  speak  half  an  hour  from  his  platform,  and 
then  leave  for  a  whole  week  and  sometimes 
for  two.  Then  he  would  come  again  and  re- 
peat the  same  proceeding.  Thus  went  the 
time  till  May." 


35^  APPENDIX. 

He  gave  up  his  thoughts  of  the  nine-volume 
history  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  and  of  this  year 
of  disappointment  there  remained  only  a  few 
articles  in  the  "  Arabesques,"  and  the  sketches 
of  a  tragedy  entitled  "Alfred,"  which  show 
that  he .  had  not  a  trace  of  talent  for  tragedy. 
In  1835  he  resigned,  and  devoted  himself 
entirely  to  literature. 

About  this  time  he  began  to  develop  a  great 
passion  for  the  supernatural,  which  is  best  illus- 
trated in  his  sketch  "Vii."  It  is  an  interesting 
fact  that  the  poet  Pushkin,  whose  influence  over 
Gogol  was  considerable,  suggested  to  him  the 
subject  of  "Dead  Souls."  He  also  told  him 
the  story  which  he  afterwards  worked  up  into 
the  "  Revizor."  Pushkin  himself  at  one  time 
intended  to  use  both  of  these  subjects.  Gogol 
attended  the  first  production  of  the  "  Revizor  " 
on  the  stage,  and  was  greatly  disgusted.  He 
trained  the  actors,  however,  giving  them  the 
meaning  of  every  inflection,  and  showing  what 
gesticulation  was  needed.  "All  are  •  against 
me,"  he  wrote  to  M.  S.  Shchepkin  in  1836,  "all 
the  decent  tchinovniks  are  shouting  that  I  hold 
nothing  sacred,  since  I  dared  to  speak  so  about 


APPENDIX.  359 

people  who  are  in  the  service.  The  police  are 
against  me,  merchants  are  against  me,  literary- 
men  are  against  me :  they  berate  me,  yet  they 
go  to  see  the  play.  At  the  fourth  act  it  is  im- 
possible to  get  tickets.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  mighty  protection  of  the  emperor,  my  play 
would  never  have  been  put  on  the  stage ;  and 
people  even  now  are  doing  their  best  to  have  it 
suppressed.  Now  I  see  what  it  means  to  be  a 
comic  writer.  The  least  spark  of  truth,  and  all 
are  against  you,  —  not  one  man,  but  all  classes. 
I  imagine  what  it  would  have  been  if  I  had 
taken  something  from  Petersburg  life,  with 
which  I  am  even  more  acquainted  than  provin- 
cial life.  It  is  very  unpleasant  for  a  man  to 
see  people  against  him  whom  he  loves  with 
brotherly  affection." 

Gogol  wrote  another  comedy,  entitled  "The 
Leaving  of  the  Theatre  after  the  Production  of 
a  New  Comedy."  It  was  founded  on  the  vari- 
ous criticisms  of  his  **  Revizor,"  but  it  was  not 
very  successful.  In  1836  Gogol  went  abroad. 
He  lived  the  most  of  the  time  in  Rome,  though 
he  wandered  all  over  Europe,  and  occasionally 
returned  for  short  visits,  renewing  his  acquaint- 


3^0  APPENDIX. 

ance  with  his  old  friends.  Like  Turgenief, 
while  he  was  in  Russia  he  was  disgusted  with 
the  state  of  affairs,  but  when  he  left  there  his 
isoul  began  to  turn  with  intense  yearning  for 
his  native  land.  In  1837  Gogol  wrote  "Dead 
Souls."  He  said  in  his  "  Confessions  of  an  Au- 
thor," "I  began  to  write  'Dead  Souls'  with- 
out laying  out  any  circumstantial  plan,  without 
deciding  what  the  hero  should  be.  I  simply 
thought  that  the  bold  project,  with  the  fulfil- 
ment of  which  Tchitchikof  was  occupied,  would 
of  itself  lead  me  to  various  persons  and  charac- 
ters, that  the  natural  impulse  in  me  to  laugh 
would  create  many  scenes  which  I  intended  to 
mingle  with  pathetic  ones.  But  I  was  stopped 
with  questions  at  every  step,  why  and  where- 
fore.-* What  must  express  such  and  such  a  char- 
acter t  What  must  express  such  and  such  a 
phenomenon  .''  Now  I  had  to  ask  :  What  must 
be  done  when  such  questions  arise  .-^  Drive 
them  off  .^  I  tried,  but  the  stern  question  con- 
fronted me.  As  I  felt  no  special  love  for  this 
character  or  that,  I  could  not  feel  any  love  for 
the  work  to  bring  it  out.  On  the  contrary,  I  felt 
something  like  contempt :  every  thing  seemed 


APPENDIX.  361 

strained,  forced ;  and  even  that  which  made  me 
laugh  became  pitiable." 

Charles  Edward  Turner,  English  lector  in 
the  University  of  St.  Petersburg,  says  in  his  » 
"  Studies  in  Russian  Literature : "  "  In  the  year 
1840  Gogol  came  to  Russia  for  a  short  period, 
in  order  to  superintend  the  publication  of  the 
first  volume  of  the  "Dead  Souls,"  and  then 
returned  to  Italy.  With  the  appearance  of  this 
volume  we  may  date  the  close  of  his  literary 
career;  for  though  in  1846,  at  which  period  he 
again  settled  in  Russia,  he  published  his  "  Cor- 
respondence with  my  Friends,"  the  work  can 
only  be  regarded  as  the  production  of  a  dis- 
ordered and  enfeebled  intellect.  .  .  .  Describ- 
ing his  final  illness  and  death  in  1852,  he  says, 
"One  of  his  last  acts  was  to  burn  the  manu- 
script of  the  concluding  portion  of  'The  Dead 
Souls,'  and  to  write  a  few  sad  lines  in  which 
he  prays  that  all  his  works  may  be  forgotten 
as  the  products  of  a  pitiable  vanity,  composed 
at  a  time  when  he  was  still  ignorant  of  the 
true  interests  and  duties  of  man."  At  the 
end  of  his  article  on  Gogol  he  says,  "  What 
ultimately  became  of  Tchitchikof,  we   do  not 


3^2  APPENDIX. 

know ;  for,  as  has  been  already  stated,  the  con- 
cluding portion  of  his  adventures  was  destroyed 
by  Gogol  in  a  fit  of  religious  enthusiasm.  A 
certain  Dr.  Zahartchenko  of  Kief  thought  fit 
to  publish,  in  1857,  a  continuation  of  Gogol's 
inimitable  work.  The  stolid  complacency  which 
alone  could  encourage  an  obscure  and  talent- 
less novelist  to  undertake  such  a  task  is  in 
itself  a  sufficient  standard  of  the  success  he 
could  achieve ;  and  his  book  must  be  regarded 
with  the  same  mingled  feeling  of  astonishment 
and  pity  an  Englishman  would  experience  on 
having  put  before  him  a  continuation  of  Thack- 
eray's "Denis  Duval"  or  Dickens's  "Mystery 
of  Edwin  Drood." 

In  1848  Gogol  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusa- 
lem, and  returned  to  Russia  by  way  of  Odessa. 
The  last  years  of  his  life  were  passed  in  Mos- 
cow in  an  ever-deepening  state  of  fanatical 
mysticism.  His  death,  in  March,  1852,  was 
probably  due  to  his  insane  attempt  to  keep  the 
strict  fast.  His  last  days  were  troubled  by 
strange  hallucinations.  His  life-long  disorder 
was  an  acute  derangement  of  the  nerves  caused 
by  self-abuse. 


APPENDIX.  363 

As  an  example  of  Gogol's  early  style,  the  open- 
ing scene  of  "Taras  Bulba,"  which  has  been  men- 
tioned by  M.  Dupuy,  may  be  read  with  interest :  — 

*"  Ah !  turn  around,  little  son.  How  funny 
you  look !  What  kind  of  a  parson's  garment 
have  you  got  on  ?  Is  that  the  way  you  go  in 
your  academy  ? '  With  such  words  the  old 
Bulba  met  his  two  sons,  who  had  been  studying 
in  the  theological  school  in  Kief,  and  who  just 
came  home  to  their  father. 

"  His  sons  have  only  just  dismounted  from 
their  horses.  They  were  a  couple  of  hearty 
fellows,  who  looked  from  under  their  brows 
like  just  graduated  seminarists.  Their  strong, 
healthy  faces  were  covered  with  the  first  downy 
hair,  as  yet  untouched  by  a  razor.  They  were 
very  much  confused  at  such  a  reception  by 
their  father,  and  stood  motionless,  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  *  Hold  on,  hold  on,  children  ! '  he  continued, 
turning  them  around  and  around.  'What  a 
long  svitkas  you've  got  on !  Those  are  fine 
svitkas.  Nu,  7ni,  iiu,  such  svitkas  as  these  were 
never  yet  seen  !  Well,  now,  both  of  you  try 
to  run ;  I'll  see  if  you  don't  trip  up.* 


3^4  APPENDIX. 

"  *  Don't  you  make  fun  of  us,  don't  you  make 
fun  of  us,  father  ! '  at  last  said  the  eldest  of 
them. 

'"Fii,  What  a  dandy  you  are!  Why  not 
laugh  ? ' 

" '  Simply  because  [Da  tak] ;  I  suppose,  you 
are  my  father ;  yet,  if  you  keep  on  making  sport 
of  us,  by  Heaven,  I'll  give  to  you  ! ' 

'^'  Akh!  a  fine  kind  of  a  son  you  are.  What's 
that  you  say  to  your  father  1 '  said  Taras  Bulba, 
falling  back  a  little  in  surprise. 

"  *  Yes,  though  you  are  my  father.  I  don't 
regard  anybody,  or  have  any  respect  for  any- 
body, who  insults  me.' 

"'How  do  you  want  to  fight  with  me,  —  with 
fists  1 ' 

"  *  It  makes  no  difference  to  me.' 

'''Nu!  let  us  fight  with  fists,'  said  Bulba, 
rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

**  And  the  father  and  son,  instead  of  saluting 
each  other  after  their  long  separation,  began  to 
beat  each  other  angrily. 

"'The  old  man  must  be  crazy,'  said  the  pale, 
thin,  and  kindly  mother,  who  was  standing  on 
the  threshold,  and  who  has  not  yet  had  a  chance 


APPENDIX.  365 

to  embrace  her  beloved  children.  *  By  Heaven, 
he  is  crazy !  Here  the  children  have  come 
home.  For  more  than  a  year  he  has  not  seen 
them,  and  now  he  is  doing,  God  knows  what ! 
To  fight  with  fists  ! ' 

"  *  Yes,  he  fights  gloriously,'  said  Bulba, 
stopping.  \Ei  Bogie  .f]  *  Capital !  .  .  .  So,  so  ! ' 
he  continued,  adjusting  himself  9.  little.  *  There 
won't  be  any  need  of  trying.  He  will  make  a 
good  Kazak. — Nu,  how  are  you,  little  son.^ 
Give  us  a  kiss.'  And  the  father  and  son  began 
to  kiss  each  other. 

"  *  Excellent,  little  son ;  pound  everybody 
just  as  you  have  thrashed  me ;  don't  give  in  to 
anybody.  Yet  you  have  on  a  funny  rig.  What 
kind  of  a  rope  is  that  hanging  down }  —  And, 
you  dog,  what  arc  you  there  for  with  your  hands 
by  your  sides  } '  said  he,  addressing  the  younger 
one.  *  Why  don't  you  thrash  me,  you  son  of  a 
dog?' 

*'  *  Now  he  is  talking  nonsense  again,'  cried 
the  mother,  at  the  same  time  throwing  her- 
arms  around  the  younger  one.  *And  what 
nonsense  gets  into  his  head  !  How  can  a  child 
beat  his  own  father }     As  though  that  was  all 


366  APPENDIX. 

he  had  to  tend  to  now.  He  is  a  little  child ; 
he  has  travelled  such  a  long  way,  he  must  be 
tired  '  (this  child  was  more  than  twenty  years 
old,  and  exactly  a  Sazhcn,  almost  seven  feet 
high).  '  He  must  need  to  rest  now,  and  have 
something  to  eat ;  and  yet  he  compels  him  to 
fight ! ' 

'''Ey!  you  are  a  little  dandy  \inaztiiitchik\ 
I  see,'  said  Bulba.  'Don't  listen,  little  son,  to 
your  mother :  she  is  a  baba  [woman],  she 
doesn't  know  any  thing.  What  kind  of  petting 
do  you  want  .-*  Your  petting  is  the  clear  field 
and  a  good  horse  ;  that  is  your  petting.  And 
do  you  see  this  sabre }  That  is  your  mother. 
All  they  are  stuffing  your  heads  with  is  non- 
sense :  the  academy  and  all  those  little  books 
—  primers  and  philosophies  —  are  the  Devil 
knows  what.  I  spit  at  it  all.  I  am  going  to 
send  you  away  next  week  to  the  Zaporozhe. 
That  is  the  school  for  you.  It  is  there  only 
where  you  will  learn  reason.' 

*' '  Won't  they  stay  at  home  with  us  but  one 
week  } '  asked  the  thin  old  mother  pitifully,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  '  Poor  fellows,  they  won't 
have    time  to  enjoy    themselves.     They  won't 


APPENDIX.  367 

get  any  good  out  of  their  own  home,  and  I 
sha'n't  look  at  them  half  enough.' 

*  That'll  do,  that'll  do,  old  woman  !  A  Kazak's 
got  something  better  to  do  than  spend  his  time 
with  women  \babas\  Hurry  up,  and  put  on  the 
table  everything  you've  got, — poppy-seed  cake 
\^painpushek\  gingerbread,  and  such  like ;  pud- 
dings we  can  get  along  without.  But  fetch  us 
a  whole  ram  for  dinner,  and  then  whiskey ;  and 
let's  have  more  whiskey  than  any  thing  else : 
not  the  kind  with  different  kinds  of  stuff  in  it, 
—  raisins,  and  other  such  things, — but  straight 
whiskey,  the  unadulterated,  such  as'll  hiss  like 
the  devil ! ' 

"  Bulba  took  his  sons  into  the  small  room. 
Every  thing  in  the  room  was  arranged  accord- 
ing to  the  taste  of  that  time ;  and  that  time 
was  about  the  sixteenth  century,  when  the  idea 
of  the  union  had  just  begun  to  be  discussed. 
Every  thing  was  clean  and  whitewashed.  The 
whole  wall  was  adorned  with  sabres  and  guns. 
The  windows  in  the  room  were  small,  with  round 
panes  of  ground  glass,  such  as  can  be  found 
at  the  present  time  only  in  old  churches.  On 
the  shelves,  which  occupied  the  corners  of  the 


3^8  APPENDIX. 

room,  and  which  were  made  triangular  in  shape, 
were  standing  earthen  pitchers,  blue  and  green 
bottles,  silver  cups,  gilded  wine-glasses,  of 
Venetian,  Turkish,  and  Circassian  workman- 
ship, which  had  found  their  way  into  Bulba's 
room  in  different  ways,  —  third  and  fourth 
hand,  a  very  ordinary  thing  in  those  bold  days. 
The  linden  benches  around  the  whole  room,  the 
huge  table  in  the  middle  of  it,  the  stove  occupy- 
ing half  of  the  room,  like  a  fat  Russian  mer- 
chant's wife,  and  adorned  with  tiles  with  designs 
of  cockerels,  —  all  these  things  were  very  famil- 
iar to  our  two  young  fellows,  who  used  to  walk 
home  almost  every  year  to  spend  their  vacation  ; 
they  used  to  walk  because  they  had  no  horses, 
and  because  it  was  not  customary  to  allow 
scholars  to  go  on  horseback.  They  had  only 
the  long  forelocks  which  every  Kazak  who 
carries  weapons  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  pull. 
Bulba,  just  as  they  were  about  to  leave  school, 
sent  them  from  his  stud  a  pair  of  good  horses. 

"  *  Well  \iiu\  little  sons,  before  all  let  us  have 
some  whiskey.  God  bless  you  !  to  your  health, 
my  little  sons;  yours,  Ostap,  and  yours,  Andrii! 
May   God  grant  you  be  always    successful    in 


APPENDIX.  3^9 

battle,  that  you  may  beat  the  Busurmans  (Ma- 
hometans), beat  the  Turks,  beat  the  Tatars, 
and  when  the  Poles  begin  to  do  any  thing 
against  our  religion,  beat  the  Poles  too  !  Nii  ! 
hold  up  your  glass.  Is  the  whiskey  good  ?  And 
what  is  whiskey  in  Latin  ?  That's  it  \to-to\  little 
son.  The  Latiiintsui  [Latins]  were  fools  ;  they 
did  not  know  there  was  such  a  thing  as  whiskey 
in  existence.  What  was  the  name  of  that  fel- 
low who  wrote  Latin  verses }  I  don't  know 
much  of  reading  and  writing,  and  therefore  I 
do  not  remember.     Wasn't  it  Horatsii  .'* ' 

"'That's  a  fine  father,'  said  the  older  son, 
Ostap,  to  himself.  'The  dog  knows  every 
thing,  but  he  makes  believe  that  he  doesn't.' 

"  *  I  don't  believe  the  arkhimandrit  allowed 
you  even  to  smell  whiskey,'  continued  Bulba. 
'Well,  now,  little  sons,  tell  the  truth  :  did  they 
lash  you  with  cherry  and  maple  sticks  over  the 
back,  and  everywhere  else .?  Or  maybe,  being 
as  you  are  so  mighty  smart,  they  used  straps 
on  you !  I  reckon  that,  besides  Saturdays,  they 
used  to  thrash  you  on  Wednesdays  and  Thurs- 
days too.* 

" '  Father,  there's  no  need  of  bringing  up  all 


370  APPENDIX. 

that,'  said  Ostap,  in  his  usual  phlegmatic  voice. 
*  What's  past  is  gone.' 

''  ^  Now  we  shall  pay  everybody  off,'  said 
Andrii,  'with  sabres  and  bayonets.  Just  let 
the  Tatars  come  in  our  way!' 

'"That  is  good,  little  son.  By  Heavens, 
that's  good!  If  that's  the  case,  I  shall  go 
along  with  you.  By  Heavens,  I'll  go !  What 
the  devil  is  the  good  of  staying  here  !  What ! 
must  I  look  after  the  grain  and  swine-herds, 
or  to  fool  with  my  wife  t  I  stay  at  home  for 
her  sake  .-*  I  am  a  Kazak.  I  do  not  want  it ! 
Well,  even  supposing  there  is  no  war,  I  am 
going  with  you  to  the  Zaporozhe.  We'll  have 
a  good  time.  By  Heavens,  I'm  going!"  And 
the  old  Bulba,  little  by  little,  grew  excited,  and 
finally  became  entirely  fierce.  He  got  up 
from  the  table,  and,  trying  to  look  dignified, 
stamped  his  foot  upon  the  ground.  'To-mor- 
row we'll  go  !  Why  put  it  off  ?  What  in  the 
devil  should  we  sit  here  for  t  What  good  does 
this  hut  do  us  ?  What  do  we  want  all  these 
things  for .?  What's  the  good  of  these  pots  } ' 
And,  while  saying  this,  Bulba  began  to  smash 
and  throw  about  the  pots  and  the  bottles. 


APPENDIX.  371 

"The  poor  old  wife,  who  was  long  wonted  to 
such  tricks  of  her  husband,  looked  on  sorrow- 
fully as  she  sat  on  the  bench.  She  did  not 
dare  to  say  a  word  ;  but  after  hearing  this  reso- 
lution, so  terrible  to  her,  she  could  not  refrain 
from  tears.  She  looked  up  at  her  children,  from 
whom  such  a  quick  separation  threatened  her ; 
and  no  one  could  describe  the  whole  speechless 
force  of  her  sorrow,  which  seemed  to  quiver  in 
her  eyes  and  in  the  tremblingly  compressed 
lips. 

"Bulba  was  terribly  stubborn.  He  was  one 
of  those  characters  which  could  spring  up  only 
in  the  rough  sixteenth  century,  and  especially 
in  the  half-nomadic  Eastern  Europe,  when 
ideas  were  both  right  and  wrong  as  to  the 
possession  of  lands  which  were  a  disputed  and 
undecided  property.  At  that  time,  the  Ukraina 
was  in  this  state.  The  everlasting  necessity 
of  defending  the  border  against  three  different 
nations,  —  all  this  added  a  sort  of  free  and 
broad  character  to  the  actions  of  its  sons, 
and  it  trained  in  them  a  stubborn  spirit.  This 
stubbornness  of  spirit  was  imprinted  with  full 
strength  in  Taras  Bulba.     When  Batori  raised 


372  APPENDIX. 

regiments  in  Malo-Russia,  and  roused  in  them 
that  warlike  spirit  which  at  first  marked  only 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Rapids,  Taras  was  one 
of  the  first  colonels ;  but  at  the  first  opportu- 
nity he  quarrelled  with  all  the  others,  because 
the  booty  obtained  from  the  Tatars  by  the 
united  forces  of  the  Polish  and  Cossack  armies 
was  not  equally  divided  between  them,  and 
because  the  Polish  army  received  a  greater 
share.  He,  in  the  presence  of  all,  resigned  his 
rank,  and  said,  'When  you  colonels  don't  know 
your  own  rights,  then  let  the  Devil  lead  you  by 
the  nose.  And  I  am  going  to  recruit  my  own 
regiment ;  and  whoever  will  attempt  to  take 
away  what  belongs  to  me,  I  shall  know  how 
to  wipe  off  his  lips.'  And,  in  fact,  in  a  short 
time  he  collected  from  his  father's  estate  quite 
a  good  number  of  men,  made  up  of  both  farm- 
laborers  and  warriors,  who  gave  themselves  up 
entirely  to  his  wish.  He  was  generally  a  great 
hand  for  taking  part  in  invasions  and  raids ;  he 
heard  with  his  nose,  as  it  were,  where  and  in 
what  place  an  uprising  was  taking  place.  Like 
snow  upon  the  head,  he  would  appear  on  his 
horse.      '  Nu^   children,    what   is   it }     How   is 


APPENDIX.  373 

it  ?  Who  is  to  be  beaten  ?  What  is  the  rea- 
son ? '  was  what  he  generally  asked,  and  then 
took  a  hand  in  the  affair.  First  of  all,  he 
would  sternly  analyze  the  circumstances,  and 
he  would  take  a  hand  only  in  cases  when  he 
saw  that  those  who  seized  the  weapons  had 
really  a  right  to  do  so  ;  and  this  right,  according 
to  his  opinion,  was  only  in  the  following  cases. 
If  the  nation  in  the  neighborhood  had  been 
carrying  off  cattle,  or  cutting  off  a  portion  of 
land ;  or  if  the  commissioners  had  been  putting 
on  heavy  taxes,  or  had  not  respected  their 
elders,  and  had  spoken  in  their  presence  with 
their  hats  on ;  or  if  they  had  left  the  Christian 
religion,  —  in  such  cases  it  was  inevitably  neces- 
sary to  take  up  the  sabre ;  but  against  the 
Busurmans,  Tatars,  and  Turks,  he  considered 
it  just  to  use  the  weapon  any  time,  in  the  name 
of  God,  Christianity,  and  Kazatchestvo  (Cos- 
sackdom).  The  position  of  Malo-Russia  at  that 
time,  having  no  system  whatever,  and  being  in 
perfect  uncertainty,  brought  into  existence  many 
entirely  separate  partisans.  Bulba  led  a  very 
simple  life ;  and  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  distinguish  him  from  any  ordinary  Kazak  in 


374  APPENDIX. 

the  service,  if  his  face  had  not  preserved  a  cer- 
tain expression  of  command,  and  even  grandeur, 
particularly  when  he  used  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  defend  something. 

"Bulba  comforted  himself  beforehand  with  the 
thought  of  how  he  should-  appear  now  with  his 
two  sons,  and  say,  'Just  look  what  nice  fellows 
I  have  brought  to  you.'  He  thought  about  how 
he  should  take  them  to  the  Zaparozhe,  to  that 
school  of  war  of  the  Ukraina  of  that  day,  how 
he  should  introduce  them  to  his  comrades,  and 
superintend  their  advance  in  the  science  of  war 
and  making  raids,  which  he  considered  at  that 
time  one  of  the  first  qualities  of  a  knight.  At 
first  he  intended  to  send  them  off  alone,  because 
he  deemed  it  necessary  to  give  himself  up 
to  the  enlistment  of  a  new  regiment  which 
demanded  his  presence;  but  at  the  sight  of  his 
sons,  who  were  well  built  and  hearty,  all  his  war- 
rior-spirit suddenly  awoke  in  him,  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  along  with  them  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  though  the  necessity  of  this  was 
only  his  stubborn  will. 

**  Without  losing  a  minute,  he  began  to  give 
orders  to  his  csauly  whom  he  called  Tovkatch, 


APPENDIX.  375 

because  he  was  really  like  some  kind  of  a  cold- 
blooded machine :  during  battle  he  would  pass 
indifferently  along  .the  enemy's  ranks,  sweep- 
ing them  down  with  his  sabre  as  though  he  was 
mixing  dough,  like  a  boxer  clearing  his  way. 
The  orders  were  to  the  effect  that  he  should 
stay  on  the  farm  till  orders  came  for  him  to  set 
out  to  the  war.  After  this,  he  went  around  the 
village,  giving  orders  to  some  of  his  people 
to  accompany  him,  to  water  the  horses,  to  feed 
them  with  wheat,  and  to  saddle  his  own  horse, 
which  he  used  to  call  Tchort,  or  the  Devil. 
'A^?/,  children,  now  we  must  go  to  sleep,  and 
to-morrow  we  shall  do  what  God  may  instruct 
us  to  do.  Don't  give  us  any  bedding !  We  don't 
need  any  bedding  :  we  shall  sleep  in  the  dvor!' 
"The  night  had  just  embraced  the  heaven; 
but  Bulba  always  retired  early.  He  made  him- 
self comfortable  on  the  carpet,  covered  himself 
up  with  a  sheep-skin  Uilup,  because  the  night  air 
was  rather  fresh,  and  because  Bulba  was  fond  of 
covering  himself  warmly  when  at  home.  He 
was  soon  snoring,  and  his  example  was  followed 
by  the  whole  court.  Every  thing  that  was  lying 
in  its  various  corners  was  snoring  and  singing. 


37^  APPENDIX. 

Before  anybody  else  the  watchman  fell  asleep, 
because  he  drank  more  than  anybody  else,  in 
honor  of  the  arrival  of  the  young  lords. 

"The  poor  mother  only  was  not  sleeping. 
She  leaned  towards  the  heads  of  her  dear  sons, 
who  were  lying  side  by  side ;  with  a  comb  she 
straightened  their  young,  carelessly  disordered 
locks,  and  moistened  them  with  her  tears.  She 
gazed  at  them  with  her  whole  soul,  with  all  her 
feelings ;  she  metamorphosed  herself  into  one 
gaze,  and  she  could  not  satisfy  herself  in  look- 
ing at  them.  She  had  nursed  them  with  her 
own  breast ;  she  had  brought  them  up,  caressed 
them, — and  now  only  for  one  moment  does  she 
see  them  before  her.  *  My  sons,  my  precious 
sons !  what  will  become  of  you  }  what  fate 
awaits  you  there )  If  only  for  one  week  more, 
I  might  look  upon  you  both,'  said  she ;  and  her 
tears  stood  in  the  wrinkles,  which  had  changed 
her  once  beautiful  face.  And  indeed  she  was 
pitiful,  like  any  other  woman  of  that  bold  age. 
She  saw  her  husband  two  or  three  days  a  year, 
and  then  for  several  years  there  would  be  no 
tidings  of  him.  And  if  she  did  see  him,  when 
they  lived  together,  what  kind  of  a  life  was  hers  ? 


APPENDIX.  377 

She  suffered  insults,  even  blows.  Only  out  of 
mercy  at  times  she  felt  his  caresses.  She  was 
like  a  strange  creature  in  this  assemblage  of 
wifeless  knights,  upon  whom  the  dissolute  Zapa- 
rog  life  threw  its  stern  shadow.  The  joyless 
days  of  her  youth  flashed  before  her,  and  her 
cheeks  were  covered  with  premature  wrinkles. 
All  her  love,  all  her  feelings,  all  that  is  tender 
and  passionate  in  a  woman,  all  turned  with  her 
into  one  motherly  feeling.  She,  with  heat, 
with  passion,  with  tears,  like  the  gull  of  the 
steppe  \step-tchaika\  looked  upon  her  children. 
Her  sons,  her  dear  sons,  are  taken  away  from 
her :  they  are  taken  away,  never  to  be  seen 
again.  Who  knows }  Maybe  at  the  first  battle 
the  Tatarin  will  chop  off  their  heads,  and  she 
would  not  even  know  where  their  bodies  lie  : 
the  ravening  birds  may  pick  them  up ;  and  for 
every  little  piece  of  their  flesh,  for  every  drop 
of  blood,  she  would  have  given  up  her  all !  As 
she  wept,  she  looked  straight  into  their  eyes, 
which  all  compelling  sleep  began  to  close,  and 
she  thought  to  herself,  '  Maybe  Bulba,  after 
having  a  good  sleep,  will  postpone  the  journey 
for  a  couple  of  days.     Maybe  he  decided  to  go 


37^  APPENDIX. 

SO  soon  because  he  drank  too  much.'  The 
moon  from  the  height  of  the  heaven  was  already 
shining  over  the  whole  dvor,  filled  with  sleeping 
people,  with  the  thick  mass  of  willows  and  tall 
steppe  grass,  in  which  the  fence  around  the 
yard  was  drowned.  She  was  still  sitting  at  the 
heads  of  her  dear  sons,  without  for  a  moment 
taking  off  her  eyes  from  them,  and  not  think- 
ing of  sleep. 

**The  horses,  anticipating  the  dawn  of  day, 
lay  down  on  the  grass,  and  ceased  eating. 
The  upper  leaves  of  the  willows  began  to  rustle, 
and  little  by  little  the  rustling  stream  de- 
scended down  over  them  to  the  very  bottom. 
She  sat  till  the  very  morning:  she  was  not  at 
all  tired,  and  she  inwardly  wished  that  the  night 
might  last  as  long  as  possible.  From  the 
steppe  was  heard  the  loud  neighing  of  a 
young  colt. 

"  Ruddy  stripes  brightly  gleamed  in  the 
heaven.  Bulba  suddenly  awoke  and  jumped 
up.  He  remembered  very  well  every  thing 
that  he  had  ordered  the  day  before.  '  Nii,  fel- 
lows, you've  slept  long  enough :  it  is  time. 
Water   the   horses.      And    where    is    the    old 


APPENDIX.  379 

woman  ?  [Thus  he  generally  called  his  wife]. 
Be  lively,  old  woman,  have  something  for  us  to 
eat,  because  there  is  a  long  journey  before  us.* 

"  The  poor  old  woman,  who  was  deprived  of 
her  last  hope,  gloomily  dragged  herself  to  the 
hut.  While  with  tears  in  her  eyes  she  was 
preparing  every  thing  for  breakfast,  Bulba  gave 
his  orders,  busied  himself  in  the  stable,  and  he 
himself  selected  for  his  sons  his  best  adorn- 
ments. The  seminarists  were  suddenly  trans- 
formed :  instead  of  their  old  soiled  boots,  they 
wore  red  leather  ones  with  silver  rings  on  the 
heels ;  pantaloons  as  wide  as  the  Black  Sea, 
with  a  thousand  folds  and  pleats,  were  fastened 
tight  around  the  waist  with  a  golden  belt ; 
to  the  belt  were  attached  long  straps,  with 
tassels  and  other  little  ornaments  for  the  pipe. 
The  kazakhi  (a  little  Russian  garment),  of  gay 
color,  of  cloth  as  bright  as  fire,  was  tightened 
with  an  embroidered  belt.  Silver -mounted 
Turkish  pistols  were  stuck  behind  the  belt ; 
the  sabre  clattered  under  their  feet.  Their 
faces,  which  were  a  little  burned  by  the  sun,  it 
seemed,  became  handsomer  and  whiter ;  their 
young  black    mustaches    brought    out   now   in 


380  APPENDIX. 

somewhat  more  striking  contrast  their  white- 
ness and  the  healthy,  robust  color  of  youth. 
They  looked  well  under  their  sheepskin  hats 
with  golden  tips. 

**  The  poor  mother  !  As  soon  as  she  looked 
up  at  them,  she  could  not  utter  a  word,  and  the 
tears  were  checked  in  her  eyes. 

" '  Nuy  little  sons,  every  thing  is  ready ! 
There  is  no  need  of  wasting  time,'  cried  Bulba 
at  last.  *  Now,  according  to  the  Christian 
style,  all  of  us  must  sit  down  before  setting 
out.* 

"All  of  them  sat  down,  not  excepting  even 
the  serfs,  who  were  standing  respectfully  at  the 
door.  *  Now,  mother,  bless  your  children,* 
said  Bulba.  *  Pray  to  God  that  they  may  fight 
with  courage,  that  they  may  always  keep  the 
honor  of  knights,  that  they  may  always  stand 
up  for  the  Christian  faith  ;  else  rather  may  they 
sink,  so  that  their  spirits  perish  from  the  world. 
—  Go  over,  children,  to  your  mother.  A 
mother's  prayer  saves  in  fire  and  water.'  The 
mother,  weak  as  a  mother,  embraced  them,  took 
out  two  small  holy  images,  put  them  on  their 
necks,  all  the  time  weeping  bitterly.     '  May  the 


APPENDIX.  3S1 

Mother  of  God  —  preserve  you.  — Don't  forget, 
little  sons,  your  mother.  —  Send  me  some  little 
word  about  you.'    Further  she  could  not  speak. 

"*iV«,  let  us  start,  children,'  said  Bulba. 

"  At  the  steps  their  horses  were  standing. 
Bulba  mounted  his  devil,  who  wickedly  began 
to  back  on  feeling  a  weight  of  twenty  puds 
(nearly  eight  hundred  pounds),  for  Bulba  was 
exceedingly  heavy  and  fat. 

"When  the  mother  saw  that  her  sons  were 
already  on  the  horses,  she  hurried  after  the 
younger  one,  whose  face  expressed  more  of 
tenderness.  She  caught  the  stirrup,  clung  to 
his  saddle,  and,  with  desperation  in  all  her  fea- 
tures, would  not  let  it  out  of  her  hands.  Two 
strong  Kazaks  took  her  gently  and  carried  her 
into  the  hut.  But  as  soon  as  they  left  her,  she, 
with  all  the  rapidity  of  a  wild  goat,  though  it 
was  not  in  accordance  with  her  age,  ran  out  of 
the  gate,  and  with  an  incomprehensible  strength 
stopped  the  horse,  and  threw  her  arms  around 
one  of  them  in  a  sort  of  a  mad  and  senseless 
excitement. 

"  They  took  her  away  again. 

"  The  young  Kazaks  rode  on  gloomily,  but 


382  APPENDIX. 

kept  their  tears,  fearing  their  father,  who,  how- 
ever, on  his  part,  was  also  somewhat  melan- 
choly, though  he  tried  not  to  show  it.  It  was 
a  gray  day ;  the  green  fields  gleamed  brightly, 
the  birds  were  singing  somehow  in  discord. 
After  going  some  distance,  they  looked  back. 
Their  farm  seemed  as  though  it  was  swallowed 
up  by  the  earth  ;  only  two  chimneys  of  their 
humble  house  stood  on  the  earth  ;  only  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  on  the  branches  of  which  they  used 
to  climb  like  squirrels.  Only  the  distant  prairie 
remained  before  them,  that  prairie  which  re- 
minded them  of  the  whole  history  of  their  life, 
since  the  days  when  they  used  to  ride  over  its 
dewy  grass.  And  now  there  is  only  the  sweep 
over  the  well,  with  a  telyega  wheel  attached  to 
its  top,  standing  out  by  itself  against  the  sky ; 
already  the  level  over  which  they  have  passed 
looks,  in  a  distance,  like  a  mountain,  and  it  has 
covered  every  thing.  Farewell,  childhood,  and 
games,  and  all,  and  all,  farewell." 


APPENDIX.  3^3 


TURGfiNIEF. 

Among  the  historical  characters  belonging  to 
Turg^nief's  family  were  Piotr,  who  exposed  the 
character  of  the  False  Dmitri,  and  who  in  con- 
sequence was  executed  on  the  Lobno  Place 
in  Moscow ;  and  Yakof  Turgenief,  the  well- 
known  jester  of  Peter  the  Great,  who,  in  the 
year  1700,  had  to  shear  off  the  boyars  beards. 
Still  more  worthy  of  mention  among  those  who 
bore  the  name  of  Turgenief  was  his  cousin 
Nikolai*  Ivanovitch,  who  was  implicated  in  the 
celebrated  Dekabrist  conspiracy  of  1825,  and 
was  exiled  by  Nicholas.  He  wrote  a  large 
work  entitled  "Russia  and  the  Russians."  He 
was  a  passionate  advocate  of  the  emancipation 
of  the  serfs. 

Ivan  Turgeniefs  father  served  in  a  regiment 
of  cuirassiers  stationed  at  Orel,  and  there  he 
married  Varvara  Petrovna  Lutovinova.  His 
father  resigned  with  the  rank  of   colonel,  and 


384  APPENDIX. 

died  in  1835.  Ivan's  mother  lived  till  she 
reached  the  age  of  seventy.  In  1820  the 
whole  Turgenief  family  went  abroad  and  vis- 
ited Switzerland.  At  Berne  the  little  four-year- 
old  Ivan  Sergeyevitch  narrowly  escaped  falling 
a  prey  to  the  bears.  His  father  caught  him  by 
the  leg  just  as  he  was  pitching  headlong  into 
the  pit.  When  the  family  returned  to  Russia, 
they  lived  in  the  Government  of  Orlof;  and 
Ivan  Sergeiyevitch  had  tutors  of  every  nation- 
ality except  his  own.  His  first  acquaintance 
with  Russian  literature  came  from  a  se  f  named 
Kheraskof,  belonging  to  his  mother.  The  first 
Russian  book  that  he  ever  read  was  the  ''  Ros- 
siada."  In  1828  the  family  moved  to  Moscow, 
and  six  years  later  Ivan  Sergeyevitch  entered 
the  University  of  Moscow;  but  the  year  follow- 
ing he  left  for  Petersburg,  where  he  graduated 
as  kandidat  in  philology.  His  first  attempts  at 
writing  were  made  before  he  graduated  ;  and 
his  teacher,  Pletnef,  was  able  to  discover  in  him 
signs  of  future  greatness.  Turgenief  says,  in 
his  "  Reminiscences,"  "  At  the  beginning  of 
1827,  while  I  was  a  student  in  the  third  course 
of  the  University  of  St.  Petersburg,  I  handed 


APPENDIX.  385 

the  professor  of  literature,  P.  A.  Pletnef,  one 
of  the  first  '  fruits  of  my  muse,'  as  they  used  to 
say  in  those  days.  It  was  a  fantastic  drama,  in 
iambic  pentameters,  entitled  'Stenio.'  In  one 
of  the  following  lectures,  Pletnef,  without  men- 
tioning any  names,  analyzed,  with  his  usual 
kindness,  this  absolutely  stupid  piece  of  work, 
in  which,  with  childish  incapability,  was  shown 
a  slavish  imitation  of  Byron's  '  Manfred.* 
After  leaving  the  university  building,  and  find- 
ing me  on  the  street,  he  called  me  to  him,  and 
caressed  me  like  a  father,  remarking  at  the 
same  time  that  there  was  something  \tchto-td\ 
in  me.  These  two  words  gave  me  sufficient 
assurance  to  take  to  him  some  more  of  my 
poetical  productions.  He  picked  out  two  of 
them,  and  a  year  later  published  them  in  'The 
Sovremennik,'  which  he  inherited  from  Pushkin. 
I  don't  remember  the  title  of  one ;  but  "  The 
Old  Oak"  was  the  subject  of  the  other,  and  it 
began  thus  :  — 

*  The  forests'  mighty  tsar  with  curly  head, 
The  ancient  oak,  bent  o'er  the  water's  sleeping  smooth- 
ness.' " 


3^6  APPENDIX. 

In  1838  Turgenief  went  to  Berlin.  On  his 
way  the  ship  took  fire,  and  he  narrowly  escaped 
with  his  life.  He  afterwards  embodied  the 
recollection  in  his  story,  or  sketch,  **  A  Fire  at 
Sea."  "  I  was  then  nineteen  years  old,"  he 
says,  in  his  "  Reminiscences,"  "and  I  had  been 
dreaming  about  this  trip.  I  was  convinced  that 
it  was  possible  to  acquire  in  Russia  only  ele- 
mentary knowledge,  but  that  the  source  of  real 
knowledge  was  abroad.  Among  the  number  of 
the  professors  in  the  St.  Petersburg  University 
at  that  time,  there  was  not  one  who  could  have 
shaken  that  conviction  in  me.  Moreover,  they 
themselves  felt  the  same  way.  Even  the  min- 
istry itself,  including  its  chief.  Count  Uvarof, 
was  convinced  of  this  same  thing;  and  the  latter 
used  to  send  at  his  own  expense  young  men  to 
the  universities  of  Germany.  I  was  at  Berlin 
(at  two  different  times)  for  about  two  years.  I 
studied  philosophy,  the  ancient  languages,  his- 
tory, and  with  special  eagerness  I  devoted  my- 
self to  Hegel  under  the  guidance  of  Professor 
Werder.  As  proof  of  the  insufficiency  of  the 
knowledge  to  be  gained  at  our  own  colleges,  I 
am  going  to  quote  this  fact :   I  studied  Latin 


APPENDIX.  3S7 

antiquity  with  Zumpt,  the  history  of  Greek  lit- 
erature with  Beck  ;  but  at  my  own  home  I  was 
compelled  to  learn  by  heart  Latin  and  Greek 
grammar,  of  which  I  had  a  very  slim  acquaint- 
ance, and  I  was  not  one  of  the  worst  candi- 
dates." 

In  his  ''Reminiscences"  he  throws  further 
light  on  the  causes  which  induced  him  to  live 
abroad.  He  says  that  there  was  nothing  to 
keep  him  in  Russia.  Every  thing  around  him 
was  calculated  to  fill  him  with  indignation,  con- 
tempt, and  scorn.  "  I  could  not  hesitate  long. 
It  was  necessary  either  to  submit  to  humilia- 
tion, and  calmly  make  up  my  mind  to  follow 
the  general  rut  over  the  beaten  road,  or  boldly 
to  push  away  'every  thing  and  all,'  even  at  the 
risk  of  losing  much  that  was  dear  and  near  to 
my  heart.  And  so  I  did.  I  threw  myself  head 
first  into  the  'German  sea,'  which  should  purify 
and  regenerate  me ;  and,  when  at  last  I  emerged 
from  its  billows,  I  became  a  Zapadnik,  —  a  West- 
ern man,  and  such  I  remained  for  all  my  life." 

In  1 841  Turgenicf  returned  to  Russia,  going 
directly  to  Moscow,  where  his  mother  was  liv- 
ing.      Here    he    became   acquainted   with    the 


388  APPENDIX. 

Slavophiles  Aksakof,  Khomiakof,  and  the  Kir- 
iyevskys,  who  at  this  time  were  just  beginning 
to  promulgate  their  ideas.  But  Turg^nief  found 
them  hopelessly  in  the  "general  rut." 

He  tells  in  his  "Reminiscences"  how  he  first 
thought  of  "  Fathers  and  Sons."  "  I  was  taking 
baths  at  Ventnor,  a  little  town  on  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  in  August,  i860,  when  the  first  thought 
of  'Fathers  and  Sons'  entered  my  mind, — that 
narrative  which  checked,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
forever  the  kindly  disposition  of  the  Russian 
younger  generation.  More  than  once  I  read  in 
journals,  and  heard  that  *I  was  off  the  track,' 
or  was  'bringing  in  new  ideas.'  Some  praised 
me ;  others,  on  the  contrary,  blamed  me.  On 
my  part,  I  must  confess  that  I  never  attempted 
to  'create  a  figure.'  I  always  had  for  my  start- 
ing-point, not  an  idea,  but  a  living  person,  to 
whom  I  would  gradually  add  and  join  suitable 
elements.  The  same  thing  happened  in  '  Fa- 
thers and  Sons.'  As  the  foundation  of  the  main 
figure,  Bazarof,  the  person  of  a  young  provin- 
cial doctor,  who  surprised  me  very  much  at  the 
time,  was  chosen.  He  died  just  before  i860. 
This  remarkable  man  appeared  to  me  to  contain 


APPENDIX,  389 

all  the  elements  of  what  has  since  received  the 
name  of  Nihilism,  but  which  at  that  time  was 
just  beginning  to  rise,  and  had  not  yet  been 
formulated.  The  impression  made  upon  me  by 
this  person  was  very  strong,  and  at  the  same 
time  not  very  clear.  At  first  I  could  not  ac- 
count for  him  very  well ;  and  I  used  my  utmost 
endeavors  to  hear  and  see  every  thing  about 
me,  with  a  view  of  vivifying  the  truthfulness  of 
my  own  impressions.  This  fact  confused  me. 
In  no  book  of  our  literature  could  I  find  a  single 
hint  of  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  everywhere. 
Reluctantly  the  doubt  arose  in  me  whether  I 
was  not  hunting  for  a  shadow." 

What  he  found  at  last  was  Bazarof,  in  which 
type  he  predicted  the  spirit  of  a  new  epoch,  and 
showed  "  the  new  man  "  at  the  very  moment  of 
his  appearance.  No  one  understood  it,  and 
hence  arose  the  storm  which  assailed  the 
author. 

*'  I  experienced  impressions,"  says  Turgenief, 
**  of  different  kinds,  but  all  equally  disagreeable 
to  me.  I  noticed  coolness,  even  going  so  far 
as  indignation,  in  many  who  had  been  near  and 
dear  to  me.    I  received  almost  fulsome  congratu- 


390  APPENDIX. 

lations  from  people  who  belonged  to  the  camp 
of  my  enemies.  This  confused  me :  ...  it 
grieved  me.  But  my  conscience  did  not  re- 
proach me.  I  knew  well  that  I  had  been  true 
to  the  type  which  I  had  described." 

M.  le  Vicomte  E.  Melchior  de  Vogiie,  in 
a  capital  study  of  Turgenief's  life  and  works, 
thus  speaks  of  the  reason  for  the  novelist's 
popularity  and  influence  in  Russia :  "  We  read 
books  as  the  passer-by  glances  at  a  painting  in 
a  shop-window,  for  an  instant,  from  the  corner 
of  the  eye,  as  he  goes  to  his  business.  If  you 
knew  how  differently  they  read  their  poets 
there  [in  Russia] !  What  for  us  is  only  a  feast 
for  enjoyment  is  for  them  the  daily  bread  of 
the  soul.  It  is  the  golden  age  of  lofty  litera- 
ture, which  all  very  youthful  peoples  in  Asia,  in 
Greece,  in  the  Middle  Ages  have  seen  flourish- 
ing. The  writer  is  the  guide  for  his  race, 
the  master  of  a  multitude  of  commingling 
thoughts;  still  in  a  measure  the  creator  of  his 
language,  poet  in  the  ancient  and  complete 
meaning  of  the  word  vates,  poet,  prophet. 
Simple-hearted  and  serious  readers,  new-comers 
into  the  world  of  ideas,  eager  for  direction,  full 


APPENDIX.  391 

of  illusions  about  the  power  of  human  genius, 
ask  their  intellectual  guide  for  a  doctrine,  for  a 
reason  for  life,  for  a  perfect  revelation  of  the 
ideal.  In  Russia  the  few  members  of  the  aris- 
tocratic dite  long  ago  reached,  and  perhaps 
went  beyond,  our  dilettanteism  ;  but  the  lower 
classes  are  beginning  to  read :  they  read  passion- 
ately, with  faith  and  hope,  as  we  read  'Robin- 
son '  at  twelve.  .  .  .  For  the  Moscow  merchant, 
the  son  of  the  village  priest,  the  small  country 
proprietor,  to  whom  a  few  volumes  of  Pushkin, 
of  Gogol,  of  Nekrasof  represent  the  encyclo- 
paedia of  the  human  mind,  this  novel  ["Virgin 
Soil,"  or  "  Fathers  and  Sons,"  or  "  A  Nest  of 
Noblemen  "]  is  one  of  the  books  of  the  national 
Bible  :  it  assumes  the  importance  and  the  epic 
significance  which  the  story  of  Esther  had  for 
the  people  of  Judaea,  the  story  of  Ulysses  for 
the  people  of  Athens,  the  romance  of  'The 
Rose '  or  of  *  Rcnart '  for  our  ancestors. 

"Three  years  ago,  in  dedicating  the  statue  of 
Pushkin  at  Moscow,  Turgenief  quoted  a  char- 
acteristic remark  made  by  a  peasant  standing 
near  the  monument.  In  reply  to  a  comrade 
who   asked    the    name    of    this    gentleman    in 


392  APPENDIX. 

bronze,  the  miizhik  said,  *  He  was  a  school- 
master.' The  orator  appropriated  the  remark, 
and  developed  it,  saying  rightly  that  the  peas- 
ant in  his  ignorance  had  hit  upon  the  true 
name  of  the  hero  of  the  celebration.  The  first 
Russian  poet  had  been  the  schoolmaster  of  his 
countrymen,  he  had  given  new  life  to  their  lan- 
guage and  their  thought.  The  day,  not  far 
distant,  doubtless,  when  Turgenief's  statue  will 
be  erected  at  Moscow,  the  innzhik  will  be  able 
to  repeat  his  saying :  he  also  was  a  school- 
master. 

"  His  generation  listened  to  him  more  will- 
ingly than  to  any  other.  It  would  be  a  mis- 
take to  seek  solely  in  what  we  call  talent  for 
the  reasons  of  this  popular  adoption.  How 
many  among  his  primitive  and  passionate  read- 
ers trouliled  themselves  about  the  question 
of  talent,  of  devices  of  form,  delicacies  of 
thought }  In  literature,  as  in  politics,  a  people 
follow  instinctively  the  men  whom  they  feel 
belong  to  themselves,  made  of  their  flesh  and 
their  genius,  marked  by  their  virtues  and  their 
failings.  Ivan  Sergeyevitch  personified  the 
master  qualities  of  the  Russian  people,  —  their 


APPENDIX.  393 

simple-hearted  goodness,  simplicity,  and  resig- 
nation. He  was,  as  it  is  said  popularly,  n7ie  dme 
du  boji  Dieti :  that  mighty  brain  was  ruled  by  a 
child's  heart.  Never  did  I  approach  him  with- 
out better  comprehending  the  magnificent 
meaning  of  the  gospel  saying  about  the  "  sim- 
ple in  spirit,"  and  how  this  state  of  soul  can 
be  allied  to  the  artist's  exquisite  gifts  and 
knowledge.  Devotion,  generosity  of  heart 
and  of  hand,  brotherly  kindness  —  all  were  as 
natural  to  him  as  an  organic  function.  In  our 
cautious,  complicated  society,  where  every  one 
is  armed  for  the  rough  struggle  of  life,  he 
seemed  like  a  person  from  another  sphere,  from 
some  pastoral  and  fraternal  tribe  of  the  Ural  ; 
—  some  grand,  self-forgetful  child,  following  his 
thoughts  under  the  sky,  as  a  shepherd  follows 
his  flocks  in  the  steppe. 

"  Physically,  likewise,  this  tall,  calm  old  man, 
with  his  somewhat  coarse  features,  his  scidptur- 
esqiie  head,  and  his  thoughtful  gaze,  brought  to 
mind  certain  Russian  peasants,  —  the  elder  who 
sits  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  patriarchal  fami- 
lies, —  but  ennobled  and  transfigured  by  the 
labor  of  thought,  like  those  peasants  of  old  who 


394  APPENDIX. 

became  monks,  were  worshipped  as  saints,  and 
are  seen  represented  on  the  ikonostas  with  the 
aureole  and  the  majesty  of  prayer.  The  first 
time  that  I  met  this  good  giant,  the  symboHcal 
statue  of  his  country,  I  had  great  difficulty  in 
making  my  impression  clear :  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  saw  and  heard  a  mitzhik  upon  whom  had 
descended  the  fire  of  genius,  who  had  been 
raised  to  the  pinnacles  of  mind  without  losing 
any  of  his  native  candor.  He  would  assuredly 
not  have  been  offended  by  the  comparison,  he 
who  so  loved  his  people." 

M.  de  Vogiie  goes  on  to  speak  of  Turgenief's 
work.  **The  public,"  he  says,  referring  to  the 
"Annals  of  a  Sportsman,"  *' did  not  at  first 
perceive  their  hidden  significance :  the  watchful 
censor  was  deceived.  All  that  was  seen  in 
them  was  a  literary  manifestation  of  the  first 
order,  a  new  note  in  Russia.  Doubtless 
Gogol's  influence  was  apparent  in  the  young 
writer's  style,  in  his  comprehension  of  nature: 
the  *  Evenings  at  the  Farm'  set  the  model  for 
the  class.  It  was  always  the  grand  and  melan- 
choly symphony  of  the  Russian  land  ;  but  this 
time  the  interpretation  by  the  artist  was  quite 


APPENDIX.  395 

different.  No  longer  were  seen  Gogol's  sharp 
humor,  the  frankly  popular  character  of  his 
paintings,  his  warm  outbursts  of  ejithusiasm 
suddenly  checked  by  touches  of  irony :  in  Tur- 
genief,  no  jests  or  enthusiasm  ;  a  soberer  note, 
a  more  subdued  emotion  ;  landscapes  and  men 
are  seen  in  the  pale  twilight,  through  an 
idealizing  mistiness,  yet  clearly  outlined  and 
focussed,  as  it  were,  under  the  eyes  of  the  ever 
watchful  observer. 

"  The  language,  also,  is  richer,  more  flexible, 
more  graceful ;  no  Russian  writer  had  ever 
carried  it  to  such  a  degree  of  expression.  It  is 
not  the  clear  and  limpid  prose  of  Pushkin,  who 
had  read  much  of  Voltaire,  and  did  not  forget 
it.  Turgenief's  periods  run  slow  and  voluptuous, 
like  the  surface  of  the  mighty  Russian  rivers, 
without  haste,  harmonious,  amid  the  reeds, 
bearing  water-lilies,  floating  nests,  wandering 
perfumes,  showing  luminous  vistas,  and  long 
mirages  of  sky  and  land,  and  suddenly  re- 
appearing in  shady  depths.  His  discourse 
stops  to  gather  up  any  thing,  —  the  humming 
of  a  bee,  the  call  of  a  night-bird,  a  passing, 
caressing,    dying    breeze.      The    most    elusive 


39^  APPENDIX. 

accords  of  the  grand  register  of  nature  it 
translates  with  the  infinite  resources  of  the 
Russian  k^ys,  flexible  epithets,  words  welded 
together  with  poetic  fancy,  popular  joinings 
of  sound  to  sense. 

"  I  dwell  on  that  which  makes  the  power  of 
this  book  :  it  is  only  a  song  of  the  earth,  and  a 
murmur  of  a  few  poor  souls  directly  heard  by 
us.  The  writer  takes  us  to  the  heart  of  his 
native  land ;  he  leaves  us  face  to  face  with  this 
country ;  he  disappears,  it  seems  :  yet,  if  not 
he,  who  then  has  drawn  from  things,  and  con- 
densed on  their  surface,  that  mysterious  poetry 
which  they  hide  within  them,  but  which  so  few 
can  see,  and  which  we  clearly  see  here  ?  The 
*  Annals  of  a  Sportsman  *  have  charmed  many 
French  readers ;  yet  how  much  they  lose  in 
color  across  the  double  veil  of  the  translation 
and  the  common  ignorance  of  the  country!  .  .  . 

"When  these  fragments  were  brought  to- 
gether into  a  volume,  the  public,  till  then  uncer- 
tain, saw  the  significance  of  the  work.  Some 
one  had  appeared  with  courage  to  develop  the 
meaning  concealed  in  Gogol's  sinister  jest 
about  **Dead  Souls."     What  other  name  can  be 


APPENDIX.  397 

given  to  that  gallery  of  portraits  gathered  by 
the  sportsman,  —  small  country  proprietors, 
selfish  and  hard ;  sneaking  overseers,  idle  and 
rapacious  functionaries ;  beneath  this  cruel 
society,  wretched  helots,  fallen,  as  it  were,  from 
the  state  of  humanity,  touching  by  force  of 
misery  and  submission  ?  The  process  —  how- 
ever well  disguised  it  be,  there  is  always  a 
process — was  invariably  the  same.  The  author 
causes  a  ludicrous  being  to  pass  again  and  again 
in  his  lantern,  showing  all  its  phases,  laugh- 
able aad  pitiable,  in  turn,  without  wants,  with- 
out resources,  condemned  to  crepuscular  life. 
By  the  side  of  the  serf  appeared  the  master, 
a  half-civilized  marionette,  a  good  devil,  after 
all,  unconscious  of  the  harm  he  was  doing,  led 
astray  by  the  fatality  of  his  environment.  This 
painting,  which  would  otherwise  be  ugly,  repul- 
sive, the  writer  clothed  with  grace  and  charm, 
in  some  sort  contrary  to  his  desire  by  the' inborn 
virtue  of  his  poetry.  Why  were  all  the  main- 
springs of  life  broken  in  all  the  heroes  of  the 
book  }  Whence  came  this  malaria  over  the  Rus- 
sian land  ?  What  was  the  name  of  this  pest  ? 
The  reader  was  left  the  trouble  of  answering. 


39^  APPENDIX, 

*'  It  is  not  very  exact  to  say  that  Turgenief 
attacked  serfage.  Russian  writers,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  conditions  under  which  they 
work,  as  well  as  by  the  peculiar  turn  of  their 
genius,  never  attack  openly ;  they  neither  argue 
nor  declaim  :  they  paint  without  drawing  con- 
clusions, and  they  appeal  to  pity  rather  than 
wrath.  Twenty  years  later,  when  Dostoyevsky 
will  publish  his  "  Recollections  of  a  Dead 
House"  {Zapiski  Mertiava  Doma),  his  terrible 
memoirs  of  ten  years  in  Siberia,  he  will  pro- 
ceed in  the  same  way,  without  a  word  of  mutiny, 
without  a  drop  of  gall,  seeming  to  find  what  he 
describes  as  quite  natural,  only  a  trifle  sad.  It 
is  the  national  trait  in  all  things.  .  .  .  The 
public  understands  by  a  hint. 

*'  It  understood  this  time.  The  Russia  of 
serfage  looked  at  itself  with  horror  in  the  mirror 
which  was  held  before  its  eyes :  a  long  shudder 
shook  the  country  ;  between  night  and  morning 
the  author  was  famous,  and  his  cause  was  half 
gained.  The  censorship  was  the  last  to  com- 
prehend, but  finally  it  also  comprehended.  Pos- 
sibly its  sensitiveness  will  be  wondered  at :  I 
have  said  that  serfage  was  condemned  even  in 


APPENDIX.  399 

the  Emperor  Nicholas's  heart.  You  must  know 
that  the  wishes  of  the  censorship  do  not  always 
coincide  with  the  emperor's  wishes ;  at  least,  it  is 
backward,  it  is  sometimes  a  reign  behindhand. 
It  gave  up  launching  its  thunder  against  the 
book,  but  it  kept  its  eye  on  the  author.  Gogol 
being  dead  in  the  interim,  Turgenief  dedicated 
a  warmly  eulogistic  article  to  the  dead  author. 
This  article  would  seem  inoffensive  enough,  as 
it  appears  in  Turgenief 's  complete  works,'  and 
we  should  have  difficulty  in  discovering  the 
crime  if  the  criminal  had  not  revealed  the  secret 
in  a  very  gay  note :  '  Apropos  of  that  article, 
I  remember  that  one  day  at  Petersburg,  a  lady 
of  very  high  rank  criticised  the  punishment  in- 
flicted upon  me,  judging  it  to  have  been  unde- 
served, or  at  least  too  severe.  As  she  was 
warmly  speaking  in  my  defence,  some  one  said 
to  her,  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  don't  know  that 
in  this  article  he  called  Gogol  a  great  man?" 
—  "It  is  impossible."  —  **  I  assure  you  that  it 

*  Ten  volumes,  published  by  SalaVef,  in  Moscow  :  his  poetry,  in 
one  volume  of  two  hundred  and  thirty  pages,  bears  no  publisher's 
imprint,  simply  the  title,  Stikhotvoreniya  1.  S.  Tiirgdnieva,  S. 
Peterburg,  1885. 


400  APPENDIX. 

is  SO."  —  '*Ah!  in  that  case,  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  see  that  they 
had  to  be  severe  upon  him." ' 

"  This  impertinent  epithet,  given  to  a  simple 
writer,  cost  Turgenief  a  month  of  arrest ;  then 
he  was  advised  to  go  and  meditate  in  his 
domain.  I  imagine  that  he  found  that  society 
was  very  ill  arranged,  so  unfair  are  we  to  the 
power  that  wills  our  best  good.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed, however,  that  this  power  sometimes 
serves  our  interest  better  than  we  ourselves,  and 
lettres  de  cachet  are  generally  in  accordance  with 
the  views  of  Providence.  Thirty  years  earlier 
an  order  of  exile  saved  Pushkin  by  tearing  the 
poet  from  the  dissipations  of  Petersburg,  where 
he  was  wasting  his  genius,  and  by  sending  him 
to  the  sun  of  the  East,  where  his  genius  was  to 
ripen.  If  Turgenief  had  remained  at  the  capi- 
tal, the  warmth  of  youth  and  compromising 
friendships,  perchance,  might  have  brought  him 
into  some  barren  political  quarrel  :  sent  into 
the  solitude  of  the  woods,  he  lived  there  labo- 
rious years,  studying  the  humble  provincial  life 
of  Russia,  and  gathering  materials  for  his  first 
great  novels." 


APPENDIX.  401 

An  anonymous  writer,  who  knew  Turgenief 
intimately,  contributed,  shortly  after  his  death, 
to  "The  London  Daily  News,"  an  article,  some 
of  the  details  of  which  are  worthy  of  preserva- 
tion :  "  Turgenief  hated  luxury.  The  more  he 
advanced  in  life,  the  more  he  prized  simplicity 
in  all  things.  His  bedroom  at  Les  Fresnes '  had 
an  almost  austere  aspect.  The  bed  and  toilet- 
stand  were  in  iron  ;  and  the  desk,  drawers,  and  a 
large  bookcase,  in  mahogany,  of  a  plain  design. 
Some  photographs  and  engraved  likenesses  of 
literary  and  other  friends  broke  the  monotony 
of  the  wall.  Portrait-cartes,  many  of  which  had 
autographs  of  those  whom  they  represented, 
were  stuck  into  the  frame  of  the  chimney  glass. 

"Turgenief  was  the  youngest  of  three  very 
distinguished  brothers.  Were  the  eldest  of  the 
trio  now  living,  he  would  be  almost  a  centena- 
rian. He  remembered  Buonaparte,  Bernardin, 
St.  Pierre,  Talleyrand,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  —  of 
whom  he  was  for  some  weeks  a  guest  at  Abbots- 
ford,  —  Miss  Edgeworth  when  she  was  in  the 
zenith  of  her  fame ;  visited  Mme.  de  Stael  at 
Coppet,  and  fell  in  with  Byron  as  he  was  mak- 

*  The  summer  home  of  his  friends  the  Viardots,  at  Bougival. 


402  APPENDIX. 

ing  a  tour  on  the  Rhine.  The  eldest  Turgenief 
was  a  many-sided  man.  Though  not  a  profes- 
sional author,  he  had  great  literary  qualities. 
His  political  insight  and  sagacity  were  no  less 
remarkable,  and  he  had  a  wider  experience  of 
human  nature  than  perhaps  any  other  Euro- 
pean of  his  time.  Though  he  belonged  to  a 
family  which  stood  well  with  the  Court  and 
high  in  the  administration,  he  enjoyed  close 
intercourse  with  his  'unmasked  countrymen.* 
He  thus  designated  the  serfs,  who  had  learned 
to  be  patient  and  resigned,  but  were  unable  to 
dissimulate.  Nevertheless,  he  was  accomplished 
in  every  polite  art,  and,  if  he  had  chosen,  might 
have  risen  to  the  highest  diplomatic  position. 
His  education  was  French  on  Russian  soil. 
Voltaire  and  Diderot  were  his  early  school- 
masters. When  he  grew  up,  he  made  wide 
incursions  into  English  literature,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  Maria  Edgeworth  had 
struck  on  a  vein  which  most  of  the  great  novel- 
ists of  the  future  would  exclusively  work.  She 
took  the  world  as  she  found  it,  and  selected 
from  it  the  material  that  she  thought  would  be 
interesting  to  write  about  in  a  clear  and  natural 


APPENDIX.  403 

style.  It  was  Ivan  Turg^nief  himself  who  told 
me  this,  and  he  modestly  said  that  he  was  an 
unconscious  disciple  of  Miss  Edgeworth  in  set- 
ting out  on  his  literary  career.  He  had  not  the 
advantage  of  knowing  English  ;'  but,  as  a  youth, 
he  used  to  hear  his  brother  translate  to  visitors, 
at  his  country  house  in  the  Uralian,  passages 
from  *  Irish  Tales  and  Sketches,'  which  he 
thought  superior  to  her  thTee-volume  novels. 
Turgenief  also  said  to  me,  *  It  is  possible,  nay, 
probable,  if  Maria  Edgeworth  had  not  written 
about  the  poor  Irish  of  the  County  Longford, 
and  the  squires  and  squireens,  that  it  would  not 
have  occurred  to  me  to  give  a  literary  form 
to  my  impressions  about  the  classes  parallel  to 
them  in  Russia.  My  brother  used,  in  pointing 
out  the  beauties  of  her  unambitious  works,  to 
call  attention  to  their  extreme  simplicity,  and 
to  the  distinction  with  which  she  treated  the 
simple  ones  of  the  earth.' 

*  Mr.  Henry  James,  in  his  Atlantic  Monthly  article  upon  Tur- 
gdnief,  says  ;  "  He  had  read  a  great  deal  of  English,  and  knew  the  lan- 
guage remarkably  well,  —  too  well  I  used  often  to  think ;  for  he  liked 
to  speak  it  with  those  to  whom  it  was  native,  and,  successful  as  the 
effort  always  was,  it  deprived  him  of  the  facility  and  raciness  with 
>  which  he  expressed  himself  in  French." 


404  APPENDIX. 

"  Turg^niefs  stature  was  far  above  the  aver- 
age. He  was  admirably  proportioned,  and, 
when  young,  could  walk  as  far  in  a  day  as  a 
tough  horse  would  amble,  and  that  without  any 
oppressive  sense  of  fatigue.  The  big  bones 
supported  tremendous  muscles,  which  at  no 
time  of  his  life  were  clogged  with  adipose  tis- 
sue. When  I  knew  him,  his  thick,  long  hair 
and  flowing  beard'were  white  as  snow ;  but  as 
the  complexion  was  fresh,  the  eye  bright,  the 
carriage  upright,  the  voice  resonant,  I  never 
thought  of  him  as  an  old  man.  This  giant 
wrote  a  neat  and  almost  delicate  hand.  I  have 
before  me  a  book  of  his  with  an  autograph 
inscription  which  he  sent  me  last  winter.  .  .  . 
This  autograph,  though  almost  ladylike  in  its 
delicacy,  is  very  free  and  unconventional.  Tur- 
genief  felt  what  was  beautiful  in  minute  and 
lowly  things.  He  was  one  of  those  who  are 
happy  in  admiring  flowers  in  the  valley  of 
humiliation.  In  some  respects  he  was  a  big 
child.  Nobody  was  more  easy  to  amuse.  He 
used  to  say  that  Providence  was  so  kind  in 
throwing  in  his  way  the  kind  of  persons  who 
exactly  suited  him.    Liking  fine  arts  and  music, 


APPENDIX.  405 

and  disliking  fashion  and  worldly  frivolity,  he 
deemed  it  a  piece  of  rare  good  luck  to  fall  in 
with  Louis  Viardot  and  his  gifted  wife  {n^e 
Garcia),  and  to  be  allowed  to  enter  their  family 
circle,  .  .  . 

"Turg^nief's  conversation  was  analogous  to 
his  handwriting.  It  was  light,  delicate,  of  a 
free  and  quite  original  style,  and  abounded  in 
picturesque  traits.  Nothing  was  forced  or  far- 
fetched. His  ideas  came  in  the  bright,  easy 
flow  of  a  quick-running  and  well-fed  streamlet. 
It  was  all  the  same  to  him  whether  he  was 
brought  forward  or  unnoticed  in  society,  for  he 
was  neither  shy  nor  vain.  He  rarely,  in  talk- 
ing, broached  a  subject ;  but  there  was  no 
subject  on  which  he  could  not  talk  with  ease. 
The  politician,  philosopher,  artist,  poet,  novelist, 
intelligent  or  simple,  woman  or  child,  found 
him  good  company.  Whatever  interested  man- 
kind appeared  to  concern  him,  and  to  be  a  thing 
to  study.  At  the  Universal  Exhibition  of  1878 
I  found  Turg^nief  in  the  United  States  Agri- 
cultural Department  studying  horse-shoes  and 
horse-shoe  nails  with  as  much  zest  as  he  after- 
wards showed  in  comparing  the  works  of   the 


406  APPENDIX. 

English,  Russian,  and  German  schools  of  pic- 
torial art.  The  person  who  explained  to  him 
the  peculiar  merits  of  the  horse-shoe  nails  was 
a  character ;  and  his  peculiarities,  which  were 
racy  of  the  soil  of  Texas,  acted  as  a  stimulant 
on  the  Russian  novelist." 

**  Theoretically,  there  was  no  depth  of  human 
degradation  with  which  the  Russian  novelist 
was  not  acquainted ;  but  it  was  said  that  per- 
sonally no  vice  ever  touched  him.  *  Gros  inno- 
cent '  was  a  term  which  M.  Viardot  often  applied 
to  him  in  their  intimate  conversation.  The 
giant  was  ^na'if'  He  preserved  until  old  age 
the  impressionable  eyes  of  childhood,  and  a 
freshness  of  nature  which  to  those  who  did  not 
know  him  must  seem  incompatible  with  his 
extensive  knowledge  of  human  nature,  which 
he  studied  as  a  student  at  Moscow  and  Berlin, 
as  a  functionary  at  St.  Petersburg  and  in  other 
parts  of  Russia,  and  as  an  exile  in  Paris.  Al- 
though an  old  bachelor,  he  was  free  from 
crotchets  and  angles.  He  was  glad  to  oblige, 
often  obliged,  sometimes  was  heartily  thanked ; 
and,  when  he  met  with  ingratitude,  he  did 
not  think  about  it.      Flaubert  was  the  French 


APPENDIX.  A^7 

novelist  whom  he  best  liked  as  a  man  and  a 
writer.  But  he  was  of  opinion  that  he  travelled 
too  far  south  when  he  went  to  Carthage'  to  look 
for  a  heroine.  His  eyes  were  not  used  to  the 
glaring  landscape  of  North  Africa.  They  dis- 
cerned better  the  cool  tints  of  the  Normandy 
landscape.  Plots,  he  thought,  spoiled  novels, 
which  were  peiniurcs  de  lucem^ ;  and  he  was 
glad  to  see  that  the  taste  for  them  was  dying 
out.  Dickens,  in  his  opinion,  was  at  his  best 
in  the  *  Pickwick  Papers,'  because  he  had  not 
to  be  thinking  about  a  plot,  instead  of  letting 
his  pen  run  on  according  to  the  humor  of  the 
moment.  The  plot  was  necessary  for  a  drama, 
but  in  the  way  of  a  novelist,  who  should,  above 
every  thing  else,  keep  truth  in  view.  .  .  . 

"Turgdnief  was  of  opinion  that  a  splendidly 
picturesque  country  was  a  bad  soil  for  literary 
or  artistic  production.  Strong  emotions  or 
sensations  tended  to  dethrone  the  faculty  of 
exact  observation  upon  which  we  are  dependent 
for  aesthetic  enjoyment  in  flat  districts.  We 
console  ourselves  for  the  prose  of  a  landscape 
in  looking  with  an  almost  microscopic  eye  at 
the  plants  and  insects,  and  come  to  see  a  world 

'  Referring  to  Salammbo. 


408  AFPENDIX. 

replete  with  beauty  and  animation  in  a  tangle 
of  gorse,  brambles,  and  humble  field-flowers.  In 
expressing  to  me  this  theory,  he  asked,  '  Did 
you  ever  see  a  mountaineer  who  was  sensible 
to  the  beauty  and  song  of  a  small  bird  ?  He 
watches  the  flight  of  game  and  birds  of  prey. 
But,  for  my  part,  I  have  found  him  indifferent 
to  the  lark  and  swallow.  My  first  acquaintance 
with  the  skylark  was  precisely  in  looking  about 
for  compensation  for  the  ugliness  of  a  flat  near 
Berlin.  I  shall  never  forget  the  broadening  out 
of  the  aesthetic  faculty  on  this  occasion.  The 
little  creature  rose  almost  from  under  my  feet, 
and  went  up  singing  her  joyful  song,  which  I 
heard  long  after  she  was  invisible.  I  then 
remarked  the  beauty  of  the  sky  and  of  many 
other  things  which  I  should  not  otherwise  have 
noticed.'  " 

A  few  sentences  from  the  "  noble  discourse  " 
spoken  by  M.  Renan  at  Turg^nief's  tomb,  on 
Oct.  I,  1883,  will  fittingly  bring  this  note  to  a 
close. 

"Turgenief  was  an  eminent  writer.  He  was, 
above  all,  a  great  man.     I  shall  speak  to  you 


APPENDIX.  409 

only  of  his  soul  as  it  always  appeared  to  me  in 
the  pleasant  retreat  which  an  illustrious  friend- 
ship had  provided  for  him  among  us. 

"Turgenief  received,  by  that  mysterious  de- 
cree which  makes  human  avocations,  the 
noblest  gift  of  all  :  he  was  born  essentially  im- 
personal. His  consciousness  was  not  that  of 
an  individual  more  or  less  finely  endowed  by 
nature :  he  was  in  some  sort  the  consciousness 
of  a  people.  Before  his  birth  he  had  lived  thou- 
sands of  years  ;  infinite  series  of  visions  were 
concentrated  in  the  depths  of  his  heart.  No 
man  has  been  to  such  a  degree  the  incarnation 
of  an  entire  race.  A  world  lived  in  him,  spoke 
by  his  lips ;  generations  of  ancestors  lost  in 
the  sleep  of  ages,  without  voices,  through  him 
came  to  life  and  to  speech. 

"  The  silent  genius  of  collective  masses  is 
the  source  of  all  great  things.  But  the  masses 
have  no  voice.  They  can  only  feel  and  stam- 
mer. They  need  an  interpreter,  a  prophet,  to 
speak  for  them.  Who  shall  be  this  prophet  ? 
Who  shall  tell  their  sufferings,  denied  by  those 
who  are  interested  in  not  seeing  them,  their 
secret   aspirations  which   upset   the   sanctimo- 


4IO  APPENDIX. 

nious  optimism  of  the  contented  ?  The  great 
man,  gentlemen,  when  he  is  at  once  a  man  of 
genius  and  a  man  of  heart.  That  is  why  the 
great  man  is  least  free  of  all  men.  He  does 
not  do,  he  does  not  say,  what  he  wishes.  A 
God  speaks  in  him  ;  ten  centuries  of  suffering 
and  of  hope  possess  him  and  rule  him.  Some- 
times it  happens  to  him,  as  to  the  seer  in  the 
ancient  stories  of  the  Bible,  that,  when  called 
upon  to  curse,  he  blesses ;  according  to  the 
spirit  which  moves,  his  tongue  refuses  to  obey. 
*'  It  is  to  the  honor  of  the  great  Slav  race, 
whose  appearance  in  the  world's  foreground  is 
the  most  unexpected  phenomenon  of  our  cen- 
tury, that  it  was  first  expressed  by  a  master  so 
accomplished.  Never  were  the  mysteries  of  an 
obscure  and  still  contradictory  consciousness 
revealed  with  such  marvellous  insight.  It  was 
because  Turgenief  at  once  felt,  and  perceived 
that  he  felt :  he  was  the  people,  and  he  was  of 
the  elect.  He  was  as  sensitive  as  a  woman  and 
as  impassive  as  a  surgeon,  as  free  from  illu- 
sions as  a  philosopher  and  as  tender  as  a  child. 
Happy  the  race,  which,  at  its  beginning  a  life 
of  reflection,  can  be  represented  by  such  images, 


APPENDIX.  411 

simple-hearted  as  well  as  learned,  at  once  real 
and  mystical. 

"When  the  future  shall  have  brought  to  their 
real  proportions  the  surprises  kept  in  reserve 
for  us  by  this  wonderful  Slav  genius,  with  its 
ardent  faith,  its  depth  of  intuition,  its  individ- 
ual idea  of  life  and  death,  its  martyr  spirit,  its 
thirst  for  the  ideal,  Turgenief's  paintings  will 
be  priceless  documents,  something,  as  it  were, 
like  the  portrait  of  a  man  of  genius,  if  it 
were  possible  to  be  had,  taken  in  his  infancy. 
The  perilous  solemnity  of  his  duty  as  inter- 
preter of  one  of  the  great  families  of  humanity, 
Turgenief  clearly  saw.  He  felt  that  he  had 
souls  in  his  charge  ;  and,  as  he  was  a  man  of 
honor,  he  weighed  each  of  his  words.  He  trem- 
bled for  what  he  said,  and  what  he  did  not  say. 

"  His  mission  was  thus  wholly  that  of  the 
peacemaker.  He  was  like  the  God  of  the  Book 
of  Job,  who  *  makes  peace  upon  the  heights.* 
What  everywhere  else  caused  discord  became 
with  him  a  principle  of  harmony.  In  his  great 
bosom,  contradictions  united.  Cursing  and 
hatred  were  disarmed  by  the  magic  enchant- 
ments of  his  art. 


412  APPENDIX. 

"That  is  why  he  is  the  common  glory  of 
schools,  between  which  so  many  disagreements 
exist.  This  great  race,  divided  because  it  is 
great,  finds  in  him  its  unity.  Hostile  brethren 
separated  by  different  ways  of  interpreting  the 
ideal,  come  all  of  you  to  his  tomb.  All  of  you 
have  the  right  to  love  him  ;  for  he  belonged  to 
all  of  you,  he  held  you  all  in  his  heart.  Admir- 
able privilege  of  genius  !  The  repellent  sides 
of  things  do  not  exist  for  him.  In  him  all  finds 
reconciliation.  Parties  most  opposed  unite  to 
praise  him  and  admire.  In  the  region  whither 
he  carries  us,  words  which  stir  irritation  in  the 
vulgar  lose  their  sting.  Genius  accomplishes  in 
a  day  what  it  takes  centuries  to  do.  It  creates 
an  atmosphere  of  higher  peace  when  those  who 
were  foes  find  that  in  reality  they  have  been 
co-laborers  ;  it  opens  the  era  of  the  grand 
amnesty  when  those  who  have  been  battling  in 
the  arena  of  progress  sleep  side  by  side  and 
hand  in  hand. 

"Above  the  race,  in  fact,  stands  humanity; 
or,  if  you  prefer,  reason.  Turgenief  was  of  a 
race  by  his  manner  of  feeling  and  painting.  He 
belonged  to  all  humanity  by  his  lofty  philoso- 


APPENDIX,  413 

phy,  facing  with  calm  eyes  the  conditions  of 
human  existence,  and  seeking  without  prejudice 
to  know  the  reality.  This  philosophy  brought 
him  sweetness,  joy  in  life,  pity  for  creatures, 
for  victims  above  all.  Ardently  he  loved  this 
poor  humanity,  often  blind,  in  sooth,  but  so 
often  betrayed  by  its  leaders.  He  applauded 
its  spontaneous  effort  towards  well  being  and 
truth.  He  did  not  reprove  its  illusions ;  he 
was  not  angry  because  it  complained.  The 
iron  policy  which  mocked  at  those  who  suffer 
was  not  for  him.  No  disappointment  arrested 
him.  Like  the  universe,  he  would  have  begun 
a  thousand  times  the  ruined  work :  he  knew 
that  justice  can  wait ;  the  end  will  always  be 
success.  He  had  truly  the  words  of  eternal 
life,  the  words  of  peace,  of  justice,  of  love,  and 
of  liberty." 


4^4  APPENDIX. 


COUNT   LYOF   N.    TOLSTOI. 

Count  Tolstoi  traces  his  ancestry  back  to 
Count  Piotr  Andreyevitch  Tolstof,  a  friend  and 
companion  of  Peter  the  Great.  In  all  proba- 
bility the  unnamed  atavus  who  lurks  in  the 
patronymic  Ajidreyevitch  was  merely  distin- 
guished by  his  size,  —  Andrew  the  Stout.  Many 
Russian  family  names,  just  as  is  the  case  with 
our  own  English  appellations,  are  derived  from 
characteristics  or  resemblances.  "  The  great 
Speransky  was  a  hopeful  foundling  ;  Solovief 
recalls  our  nightingales  ;  Pobyedonovtsof  means 
"of  the  victorious;"  the  name  of  Katkof 
may  refer  to  the  proverbial  rolling  stone ; 
Gogol  is  a  species  of  duck  called  the  golden 
eye ;  the  report  of  cannon  may  be  heard  in 
Pushkin's  name ;  the  ancestor  of  Griboyedof 
was  probably  an  eater  of  mushrooms. 

Tolstoi's  father  was  a  retired  lieutenant-colo- 
nel, who  died  in   1839.     His  mother,  the  Prin- 


APPENDIX  415 

cess  Marya  Nikolayevna  Volkonskaifa,  died 
when  Count  Lyof  was  only  two  years  old,  and 
he  was  brought  up  by  a  distant  relative, 
Mme.  Yergolskaia.  At  YasmaYa  Polyana  his 
education  was  desultory.  In  1840  the  five 
children  were  taken  in  charge  by  a  relative  of 
their  mother,  Pelagia  Ilinishna  Yushkovaifa,  who 
lived  at  Kazan.  It  was  thus  that  Lyof  Tolstof 
happened  to  enter  the  university  of  that  city  in 
1843.  After  a  few  years  of  study,  he  suddenly 
determined  to  leave  the  university  without 
graduation.  The  rektor  and  the  professors 
argued  with  him,  but  in  vain  ;  and  he  went 
back  to  his  ancestral  estate,  where  he  lived  till 
185 1,  very  rarely  visiting  the  capital.  A  visit 
from  his  beloved  brother  Nikolai',  who  was  an 
officer  in  the  army  of  the  Caucasus,  inspired 
liim  to  see  "cities  of  men  and  manners,  cli- 
mates, councils,"  though  least  of  all  the  cities 
of  men.  Especially  strong  was  his  desire  to 
be  with  his  brother  in  the  Kavkas,  where  Rus- 
sia's greatest  poets  had  won  their  proudest 
laurels.  The  impressions  made  on  him  by  the 
splendid  scenery  of  the  '  white  mountains,'  and 
by  the  rough,  half-savage  life,  were  so   strong 


41 6  APPENDIX. 

that  in  185 1  he  entered  the  service,  hke  Olenin, 
as  a  yimker,  or  ensign-bearer  in  the  Fourth 
Battery  of  the  Twentieth  Artillery,  the  same  in 
which  his  brother  was  an  officer. 

Here  in  the  Caucasus  Count  Tolstoi"  first 
began  to  write  fiction.  He  planned  to  weave 
his  recollections  of  family  life  and  old  tradi- 
tions into  a  great  novel.  Fragments  of  this 
work  were  written  and  afterwards  published 
in  the  '*  Sovremennik."  ''Infancy"  {Dyetstvo) 
came  out  in  1852.  "Adolescence"  {Otrotches- 
tvo)  was  also  written  then,  and  several  of  his 
brilliant  sketches  of  wild  life,  —  "The  Inva- 
sion," "The  Felling  of  the  Forest,"  and,  as  has 
been  said,  "  The  Cossacks."  "  The  Cossacks  " 
is  translated  into  English  by  Mr.  Eugene 
Schuyler.  A  very  little  polishing  would  make  it 
a  brilliant  piece  of  literary  work :  in  its  present 
form  it  is  crude  and  rough. 

Count  Tolstoi  lived  two  years  in  the  Cauca- 
sus, taking  part  in  various  guerilla  expeditions, 
and  enduring  in  common  with  the  soldiers  all 
the  hardships  of  frontier  warfare.  Here  on 
the  spot  he  made  his  powerful  and  life-like 
studies  of  the  Russian  soldier,  which  are  seen 


APPEiYDIX.  4^7 

in  his  "  War  Sketches  '  (  VoyennuU  Razskaziii). 
At  the  breaking  out  of  the  Crimean  War, 
Count  Tolstoi'  was  transferred  to  the  army  of  the 
Danube,  and  served  on  Prince  M.  D.  Gortcha- 
kof's  staff.  At  Sevastopol,  whither  he  went  after 
the  Russian  army  was  driven  from  the  princi- 
palities, he  was  attached  to  the  artillery.  His 
literary  work  had  attracted  attention  in  high 
quarters,  and  orders  were  sent  to  the  front  to 
see  that  he  was  not  exposed  to  danger.  In 
May,  1855,  he  was  appointed  division  com- 
mander :  he  took  part  in  the  battle  of  the 
Tchernaia,  was  in  the  celebrated  storming  of 
Sevastopol,  and  after  the  battle  was  sent  as 
special  courier  to  Petersburg.  At  the  end  of 
the  campaign  Count  Tolstoi*  retired,  and  the 
next  winter  he  spent  at  Moscow  and  Peters- 
burg. This  was  a  period  of  great  literary 
activity.  Besides  his  stories,  "Sevastopol  in 
December,"  and  "  Sevastopol  in  May,"  there 
appeared  in  the  magazines  "Youth"  {Yiinost)^ 
"  Sevastopol  in  August,"  "  Two  Hussars  "  {Dva 
Gusdri),  and  "  Three  Deaths  "  {Tri  Sinerti). 

After  the  liberation  of  the  serfs,  Count  Tol-' 
stoY,  like  many  conscientious  Russian  proprie- 


41 3  APPENDIX. 

tors,  felt  it  his  duty  to  live  on  his  estate.  He 
was  profoundly  interested  in  agronomic  ques- 
tions, and  in  the  application  to  the  Slavic 
commune  of  Occidental  methods,  which  he 
studied  abroad  for  himself.  He  was  still  more 
interested  in  popular  education  ;  and  a  school 
journal,  called  "Yasnaia  Polyana,"  which  he 
established,  discussed  all  pedagogical  questions. 
He  also  published  a  series  of  primers,  readers, 
spellers,  in  paper  covers  and  large  type.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  a  Russian  journalist 
met  Count  Tolstoi;  and  his  account  of  the  inter- 
view is  interesting,  as  showing  the  novelist's 
views  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  He  says,  — 
"In  1862  I  became  acquainted  with  him  in 
Moscow.  I  saw  before  me  a  tall,  wide-shoul- 
dered, thin-waisted  man,  about  thirty-five  years 
old,  with  a  mustache,  but  without  a  beard,  with 
a  serious,  even  gloomy  expression  of  face,  which, 
however,  was  softened  by  a  gleam  of  kindliness 
whenever  he  laughed.  Our  conversation  turned 
on  the  occurrences  which  at  that  time  were  ex- 
citing Russian  life.  Count  Tolstoi  immediately 
showed  that  he  lived  outside  of  this  life,  that 
the  interests  of  the  class  which  recrards  itself 


APPENDIX.  419 

as  cultured  were  foreign  to  him.  He  seemed 
to  be  opposed  to  progress,  which,  in  his  opinion, 
was  only  advantageous  for  the  smaller  portion 
of  society,  having  plenty  of  time  to  spend,  and 
which  was  absolutely  injurious  for  the  majority, 
for  the  people ;  and  for  them  it  was  just  as 
disadvantageous  as  it  was  profitable  for  the 
minority.  .  .  .  Those  present  argued  angrily 
with  him  :  he  himself  sometimes  was  drawn 
away,  sometimes  he  spoke  ironically.  I  lis- 
tened more  than  I  spoke.  At  the  time  when 
all  were  infatuated  with  progress,  such  original 
boldness  of  thought  was  remarkable  ;  and  I  felt 
an  involuntary  sympathy  for  this  Rousseau, 
who  began  to  contrast  the  products  of  qature 
with  the  products  of  civilization,  —  forests,  wild 
creatures,  rivers,  physical  development,  purity 
of  morals,  and  other  such  things.  It  seemed 
that  this  man  was  living  the  life  of  the  peas- 
antry, sharing  their  views,  that  he  was  devoted 
to  the  welfare  of  the  people  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  soul,  though  he  understood  the  people  in 
different  way  from  others.  The  proof  was  his 
school,  —  those  maltchiks,  of  whom  he  spoke 
with  evident  love,  praising  their  talents,  their 


420  APPENDIX. 

powers  of  comprehension,  their  artistic  sense, 
their  moral  virginity,  which  was  so  far  from 
being  the  case  with  children  of  other  nation- 
alities." 

The  latter  years  of  Count  TolstoY's  life,  since 
the  publication  of  "  War  and  Peace "  and 
''Anna  Karenina,"  are  somewhat  wrapped  in 
mystery.  Various  wild  stories,  founded  on  the 
evident  bias  of  "  My  Confession "  and  ''  My 
Religion,"  have  assumed  almost  the  proportions 
of  myth.  It  may  be  that  at  the  present  day, 
that  we  of  the  calm,  rational,  sceptical.  West- 
ern world  are  granted  the  privilege  of  seeing 
the  actual  evolution  of  a  myth,  as  a  boy  may 
see  a  chrysalis  unfold. 

The  Russian  race,  standing  with  its  Janus 
face  towards  the  sunset  and  the  more  mystical 
sunrise,  a  link,  as  it  were,  between  Occidental 
fact  and  Oriental  fancy,  might  well  allow  us  the 
spectacle.  •  "  My  Religion  "  declares  that  titles, 
emoluments,  dignities,  and  all  such  things,  are 
vain.  Next  we  hear  that  Count  Tolstoi  is  only 
a  muzhik.  No  man  has  a  right  to  wealth.  We 
hear  that  the  opulent  aristocrat  has  stripped 
himself  to  give  to  the  poor.      All  must  earn 


APPENDIX.  42 1 

their  bread  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow.  The 
young  sons  of  the  count  are  next  heard  of  as 
crossing-sweepers.  The  truth  probably  is,  that 
Count  Tolstoi  has  in  reality  changed  little  from 
the  Olenin  of  *' The  Cossacks,"  praying  for 
occasion  of  self-sacrifice,  for  chance  of  renunci- 
ation, changed  little  from  the  threefold  mani- 
festation of  himself  in  "War  and  Peace," 
working  for  the  same  end,  or  from  the  twofold 
and  simpler  manifestation  of  himself,  morally 
in  Levin,  socially  in  Vronsky,  of  "  Anna  Kare- 
nina."  The  little  picture  of  him  given  by  the 
Russian  journalist  casts  a  flood  of  light  on  the 
man  ;  and  therefore  it  was  but  a  fulfilment  of 
prophecy  to  read  that  Count  Tolstoi,  instead 
of  beggaring  his  children,  instead  of  deserting 
the  pen  of  the  writer  for  the  awl  of  the  cobbler, 
was  brave  and  cheerful  and  healthy  in  body 
and  mind,  superintending  his  schools,  cultivat- 
ing his  ancestral  desyatins,  and  writing  stories 
when  the  mood  was  on  him. 

This  brief  sketch  of  Count  Tolstor's  life  may 
fitly  come  to  a  conclusion  with  an  acute  bit  of 
criticism  from  a  Russian  writer.  It  is  very 
possible  that  his  marriage  to  Sofia  Andreyevna 


422  APPENDIX. 

Beers,  the  daughter  of  a  Muscovite  professor, 
which  took  place  in  1862,  may  have  cast  a  back 
gleam,  and  inspired  the  thought  of  creating 
the  gracious  forms  that  move  through  Count 
Tolstoi's  later  novels.  At  all  events,  this  is 
what  the  critic  said  when  •'  War  and  Peace " 
appeared,  at  the  end  of  i860,  "It  is  remarkable, 
that  in  all  Tolstoi's  works,  until  the  appearance 
of  ''  Vo'ina  i  Mir,''  there  is  not  a  single  female 
figure  brought  out  in  strong  relief;  but  here 
were  seen  a  whole  pleiad,  wonderfully  clear, 
psychologically  true,  and  beautifully  described. 
The  richness  and  variety  in  the  figures  of  the 
men,  the  splendid  description  of  the  battles,  a 
perfect  mass  of  marvellously  described  scenery, 
in  which  persons  of  all  classes  appear,  begin- 
ning with  emperors,  and  ending  with  muzhiks 
and  babaSy  make  this  work  one  of  the  greatest 
ornaments  of  our  literature." 


APPENDIX.  423 


Note  to  P.  145 — Tchernuishevsky. 

It  is  commonly  reported  in  Russia,  that  Tchernui- 
shevsky wrote  yet  another  novel  besides  Tchto  Dyelat, 
entitled  Prolog  Prologof  (a  Prologue  of  Prologues), 
which  may  possibly  be  still  in  existence  in  manuscript. 


Note  to  P.  202.  —  Dostoyevsky. 

Fe6dor  Mikhailovitch  Dostoyevsky's  father  was  a 
doctor.  The  boy,  who  was  one  of  a  large  family,  grew 
up  pale  and  thin.  He  had  a  nervous  and  impression- 
able nature,  with  some  tendency  to  hallucination.  He 
was  very  fond  of  the  woods.  He  tells  in  his  recollec- 
tions of  his  childhood,  that  his  "  special  delight  was  the 
forest,  with  its  mushrooms  and  wild  cherries,  with  its 
beetles  and  birds,  its  porcupines  and  squirrels,  with 
its  delicious  damp  of  the  flying  leaves."  He  had  all 
the  books  that  he  desired.  By  the  time  that  he  was 
twelve,  he  had  read  all  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  and  Coo- 
per's novels,  besides  some  Russian  authors,  including 
Karamzin's   great    history.     At  fifteen,   Dostoyevsky 


424  APPENDIX. 

was  sent  to  Petersburg,  where  he  entered  the  main 
engineering  school.  Notwithstanding  his  passion  for 
Hterature,  which  was  shared  by  many  of  his  school- 
mates, he  distinguished  himself  in  mathematics,  and 
graduated  number  three  in  a  class  of  thirty.  About 
this  time  he  was  deprived  of  both  father  and  mother. 

"  While  he  was  living  in  Petersburg,"  says  Mr.  S.  S. 
Skidelsky,  "  he  visited  all  the  slums  and  haunts  of  pov- 
erty, for  the  sake  of  collecting  materials  for  his  future 
literary  work."  Dostoyevsky  tells  in  his  recollections, 
quoted  by  Polevoi",  that  in  the  winter  of  1845  he  be- 
gan his  first  story,  "  Poor  People  "  {Byedmde  Liudi). 
"  When  I  finished  the  tale,  I  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it,  or  where  to  place  it.  I  had  no  literary  ac- 
quaintances, except  possibly  Grigor6vitch,  who  at  that 
time  had  written  nothing  except  '  Petersburg  Organ- 
grinders,'  in  a  magazine.  .  .  .  He  came  to  me  one 
day  in  May,  and  said,  *  Show  me  the  manuscript : 
Nekrasof  is  going  to  publish  a  magazine  next  year, 
and  I  want  to  show  it  to  him.'  I  took  it  over  to  Ne- 
krasof. We  shook  hands;  I  became  confused  at 
the  thought  that  I  had  come  with  my  writing,  and  I 
quickly  beat  a  retreat  without  saying  another  word. 
I  had  very  little  hope  of  success  ;  for  I  stood  in  awe  of 
the  party  of  *  the  Country  Annals,'  as  the  literary  men 
of  that  day  were  called.     I  read  Byelinsky's  criticisms 


APPENDIX.  425 

eagerly,  but  he  seemed  to  me  too  severe  and  cruel ; 
and  '  he  will  make  sport  of  my  "  Poor  People," '  I  used 
to  think  at  times,  but  only  at  times.  '  I  wrote  it  with 
passion,  almost  with  tears.  Is  it  really  possible  that 
all  these  minutes  spent  with  pen  in  hand  over  this 
story,  that  all  this  is  falsehood,  mirage,  untrue  feeling  ? ' 
But  I  had  these  thoughts  only  now  and  then,  and 
immediately  the  doubts  returned  again. 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  very  day  that  I  handed  him 
the  manuscript,  1  went  a  long  way  to  see  one  of  my 
former  classmates.  We  talked  all  night  about  *  Dead 
Souls,'  and  we  read  it  again,  —  I  don't  know  how  many 
times  it  made.  At  that  time  it  was  fashionable,  when 
two  or  three  young  men  met,  to  say,  *  Hadn't  we 
better  read  some  Gogol,  gentlemen?'  and  then  to 
sit  down  and  read  late  into  the  night.  ...  I  returned 
home  at  four  o'clock,  in  the  white  Petersburg  night, 
bright  as  day.  It  was .  a  beautiful  warm  time ;  and 
when  I  reached  my  room  I  could  not  go  to  sleep,  but 
opened  the  window,  and  sat  down  by  it.  Suddenly 
the  bell  rang :  it  surprised  me  greatly ;  and  in  an 
instant  Grigordvitch  and  Nekrasof  were  hugging  me  in 
a  glory  of  enthusiasm,  and  both  of  them  were  almost 
in  tears.  The  evening  before  they  had  returned  home 
early,  took  up  my  manuscript,  and  began  to  read  it 
for  a  trial :  '  By  ten  pages  we  shall  be  able  to  judge.' 


426  APPENDIX. 

But  after  they  had  finished  ten  pages  they  decided 
to  read  ten  more.  And  afterwards,  without  budging, 
they  sat  the  whole  night  through  till  early  morning, 
taking  turns  in  reading  aloud  when  one  got  tired. 
'  He  read  about  the  death  of  the  student,'  said  Gri- 
gordvitch,  after  we  were  alone ;  *  and  suddenly  I 
noticed,  that,  when  he  reached  the  place  where  the 
father  runs  after  his  son's  coffin,  Nekrasofs  voice  broke 
once,  and  a  second  time,  and  all  at  once  it  failed 
entirely.  He  pounded  with  his  fist  on  the  manuscript : 
"  Akh^  what  a  man  !  "  That  was  said  about  you  ;  and 
so  we  spent  the  whole  night.' 

"  When  they  finished  the  manuscript,  they  ex- 
claimed, simultaneously,  '  Let  us  go  and  find  him 
right  away.  Suppose  he  is  asleep,  this  is  more  im- 
portant than  sleep.'  .  .  .  They  staid  half  an  hour. 
For  half  an  hour  we  talked  about,  God  knows  what, 
understanding  each  other  by  half  words,  by  exclama- 
tions, so  eager  were  we.  We  talked  about  poetry, 
about  prose,  about  the  'situation  of  affairs,'  and 
of  course  a*bout  Gogol,  quoting  from  the  '  Revizor ' 
and  *  Dead  Souls,'  but  chiefly  about  Bydlinsky.  .  .  . 
Nekrasof  took  the  manuscript  to  Byelinsky  that  very 
day.  '■  A  new  Gogol  has  appeared,'  shouted  Nekrasof, 
entering  with  '  Poor  People.'  '  Gogols  with  you 
spring    up    like     mushrooms,'    remarked    Byelinsky 


APPENDIX.  A^7 

severely ;  but  he  took  the  manuscript.  When  Nekrd- 
sof  returned  that  same  evening,  By^Hnsky  met  him  in 
perfect  enthusiasm.  'Bring  him,  bring  him  as  soon 
as  you  can  !  *  " 

On  the  next  day  an  interview  took  place  between 
Dostoyevsky  and  the  great  Russian  critic.  Dostoyev- 
sky  thus  describes  it :  "  He  began  to  speak  with  me 
ardently,  with  flashing  eyes.  '  Do  you  understand 
yourself  what  you  have  written  ?  '  he  shouted  at  me 
several  times,  in  his  own  peculiar  way.  'Only  by 
your  own  unassisted  genius  as  an  artist,  could  you 
have  written  this.  But  have  you  realized  all  the  terri- 
ble truth  which  you  have  presented  before  us?  It  is 
impossible  that  you,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  could  under- 
stand it.  .  .  .  You  have  touched  the  very  essence  of 
the  matter,  you  have  reached  the  most  vital  inward- 
ness. We  journalists  and  critics  only  argue ;  we  try 
to  explain  it  with  words  :  but  you  are  an  artist,  and 
with  a  single  stroke  put  the  very  truth  into  shape  so 
that  it  is  tangible,  so  that  the  simplest  reader  can 
understand  instantly.  Here  lies  the  secret  of  the 
artistic,  the  truth  of  art.  Here  is  the  service  that  the 
artist  performs  for  truth.  The  truth  is  revealed  and 
imparted  to  you  ;  it  is  your  gift  as  an  artist.  Value 
your  talent,  and  be  true  to  it,  and  you  will  be  a  great 
writer.' 


428  APPENDIX, 

"  I  went  from  him  in  a  state  of  rapture.  I  stopped 
at  the  corner  of  his  house,  looked  up  at  the  sky,  at 
the  bright  sun,  on  the  passing  people,  and  all;  and 
with  my  whole  body  I  felt  that  a  glorious  moment 
had  come  into  my  life,  —  a  most  important  crisis ; 
that  a  new  life  had  begun,  such  as  I  had  never  antici- 
pated in  my  most  passionate  dreams  (and  at  that  time 
I  was  a  great  dreamer) .  *  Is  it  really  true  that  I  am 
so  great  ? '  I  asked  myself,  full  of  shame,  full  of  timid 
glory.  —  Oh,  do  not  laugh  !  —  Never  again  did  I  have 
an  idea  that  I  was  great.  But  at  that  time  was  it 
possible  to  bear  it  calmly?  Oh  !  I  will  be  worthy  of 
this  praise." 

His  name  from  this  time  began  to  stand  with  Tur- 
g^niefs,  By^linsky's,  Iskander's  (Herzen's),  and  others, 
in  the  pages  of  the  Russian  magazines.  This  period, 
which  began  so  auspiciously,  was  clouded  by  a  catas- 
trophy  which  greatly  affected  his  whole  life.  In  1 849 
he  was  arrested  and  imprisoned  on  the  charge  of 
being  engaged  in  a  secret  political  society.  His  older 
brother,  a  married  man,  the  father  of  three  children, 
was  also  arrested  on  the  same  charge.  Dostoyevsky 
knew  that  his  brother's  family  was  almost  penniless, 
that  his  brother  had  taken  no  active  part  in  the  Pet- 
rashevsky  Society,  and  had  only  borrowed  books  from 
the  general  library.     The  brother,  however,  was  soon 


APPENDIX.  429 

released  by  the  interposition  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas. 
While  he  was  in  prison,  Fe6dor  Mikhailovitch  wrote 
his  beautiful  story,  "The  Little  Hero."  He  was  con- 
demned to  death ;  but  the  sentence,  without  his 
knowledge,  was  commuted  to  transportation  to  the 
mines.  He  wrote  his  brother  on  the  3d  of  January, 
1850:  "To-day  we  were  taken  to  the  Semy6novsky 
Place.  Here  the  sentence  of  death  was  read  to  us, 
we  were  given  the  cross  to  kiss,  the  sabres  were 
broken  over  our  heads,  and  oup  death-toilet  was  pre- 
pared,—  white  shirts.  Then  three  of  our  number 
were  placed  at  the  *  disgraceful  post,'  ready  for  exe- 
cution. I  was  the  sixth.  Three  were  summoned  at 
a  time  :  consequently  my  turn  came  next,  and  I  had 
only  a  second  to  live.  I  remembered  thee,  my  broth- 
er, and  all  of  thy  household ;  at  the  last  moment 
thou  alone  wert  in  my  mind ;  here,  only,  I  learned 
how  I  loved  thee,  my  dear  brother  !  ...  At  last  the 
drums  sounded  a  retreat.  Those  who  were  fastened 
to  the  *  disgraceful  post '  were  taken  down,  and  it  was 
announced  that  his  Imperial  Majesty  had  granted  us 
our  lives." 

"  Dostoyevsky,  as  a  thoroughly  religious  and  highly 
moral  man,"  says  Polevoi,  "endured  all  the  depriva- 
tions of  his  life  in  the  mines  with  remarkable  firmness 
and  undisturbed  equanimity.     His  faith  was  strength- 


430  APPENDIX. 

ened,  not  by  the  Bible  alone,  which  was  the  only  book 
allowed  him  in  prison,  but  by  his  love  for  '  Poor  Peo- 
ple,' to  whom  he  had  sworn  to  be  true  till  he  died." 

After  he  spent  a  number  of  years  in  the  mines,  he 
entered  the  military  service,  and  was  quickly  promoted 
to  be  an  officer.  He  says,  "I  remember  that  soon 
after  leaving  the  Siberian  prison,  in  1854,  I  began  to 
read  all  the  Hterature  written  during  the  five  years 
since  my  imprisonment.  The  '  Annals  of  a  Sports- 
man '  had  just  begun* to  be  published;  and  Turge- 
nief  s  first  stories  I  read  at  one  draught.  The  sun 
of  the  steppe  shone  upon  me,  spring  began,  and  with 
it  an  entirely  new  life,  an  end  to  prison,  —  freedom  !  " 

His  passion  for  literature,  so  long  restrained,  broke 
out  with  energy  and  strength ;  and  even  before  he 
quitted  military  service  and  returned  to  Petersburg, 
he  wrote  a  few  little  trifles.  In  Petersburg  he  took 
part  in  the  journal,  "  The  Times"  (  Vremya),  edited  by 
his  brother  Mikhail  Mikhailovitch.  In  i860  appeared 
the  first  collection  of  his  works,  and  shortly  after 
appeared  his  great  novel,  ''The  Degraded  and  In- 
sulted" {Unizhbnnuie  i  Oskorblonnuie) ,  At  this 
time  Turg^nief,  Gontcharof  (author  of  "Oblomof"), 
Grigorovitch,  and  Count  Lyof  Tolstoi"  were  in  the  full 
bloom  of  production,  and  Dostoyevsky's  book  was 
not  warmly   received.      But    the    most   antagonistic 


APPENDIX.  43 1 

critics  were  silenced  when  "The  Recollections  of  a 
Dead  House  "  appeared.  It  immediately  gave  him 
the  reputation  as  one  of  the  greatest  lights  of  Russian 
literature. 

In  1863  Dostoyevsky's  wife  died;  and  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  he  lost  his  beloved  brother,  whose  journal, 
"The  Times,"  passed  into  his  hands.  But  he  was 
entirely  unused  to  business,  and  was  placed  in  a  very 
embarrassing  situation,  which  was  intensified  by  a 
strange  public  impression  that  it  was  the  novelist  who 
was  dead.  Consequently  its  circulation  was  greatly 
.reduced,  and  Feddor  Mikhailovitch  had  to  give  it  up. 
As  a  distraction  for  all  these  tribulations,  Dostoyevsky 
devoted  himself  to  literary  work,  and  wrote  his  great 
story,  "  Crime  and  Punishment,"  which  established 
his  reputation  as  a  psychological  analyst.  In  1867 
he  married  again,  and  lived  abroad  for  four  years. 
He  also,  looking  from  the  "  beautiful  distance " 
upon  the  pitiful  side  of  Russian  social  life,  wrote 
his  two  stories,  "  Idiot "  and  "  Devils."  After  he 
came  back  he  wanted  to  analyze  the  abnormal  rela- 
tionship between  the  rising  generation  and  the  older 
writers ;  and  he  founded  a  new  journal,  and  wrote  a 
novel  entitled  "Podrostok"  (The  Adult).  The  jour- 
nal was  given  up  at  the  end  of  1877  ;  but  Dostoyevsky, 
who  had  new  novels  in  view,  promised  ultimately  to 


432  APPENDIX. 

continue  the  journal  at  some  future  time.  He  died 
on  the  9th  of  February,  1881  ;  and  on  the  day 
of  his  funeral  the  first  number  of  the  long-looked- 
for  journal,  which  he  did  not  live  to  see,  was  issued. 
All  Petersburg  escorted  the  beloved  remains  to  the 
tomb ;  tens  of  thousands  of  people  were  counted  in 
the  procession.  Dostoyesky's  faith  in  humanity  is 
summed  up  in  his  own  words  :  "  I  never  could  under- 
stand the  reason  why  one-tenth  part  of  our  people 
should  be  cultured,  and  the  other  nine-tenths  must 
serve  as  the  material  support  of  the  minority  and 
themselves  remain  in  ignorance.  I  do  not  want  to 
think  or  to  live  with  any  other  belief  than  that  our 
ninety  millions  of  people  (and  those  who  shall  be 
born  after  us)  will  all  be  some  day  cultured,  human- 
ized, and  happy.  I  know  and  I  firmly  believe  that 
universal  enlightenment  will  harm  none  of  us.  I  also 
believe  that  the  kingdom  of  thought  and  light  is  pos- 
sible of  being  realized  in  our  Russia,  even  sooner  than 
elsewhere  maybe,  because  with  us,  even  now,  no  one 
defends  the  idea  of  one  part  of  the  population  being 
enlisted  against  the  other,  as  is  found  everywhere  in 
the  civilized  countries  of  Europe.' 


APPENDIX.  433 

Note  to  P.  203. 

The  Banya  (from  '*  The  Recollections  of  a  Dead-House"). 

"  In  the  whole  city,  there  were  only  two  public  baths. 
The  first,  which  was  kept  by  a  Hebrew,  was  numbered, 
with  an  entrance-fee  of  fifty  kopeks  for  each  number, 
and  was  designed  for  high-toned  people.  The  other 
banya  was  pre-eminently  common,  old,  filthy,  small ; 
and  to  this  banya  our  prisoners  were  going.  It  was 
cold  and  sunny.  The  men  were  already  rejoicing 
because  they  were  going  to  get  out  of  prison,  and 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  city.  Jests,  laughter,  did  not 
cease  during  the  walk.  A  whole  squad  of  soldiers 
escorted  us  with  loaded  guns,  to  the  wonder  of  the 
whole  city.  At  the  banya  they  immediately  divided 
us  into  two  detachments.  The  second  had  to  wait  in 
the  cold  ante-room  while  the  first  detachment  soaped 
themselves,  and  this  was  necessary  on  account  of  the 
smallness  of  the  banya ;  but,  notwithstanding  this 
fact,  the  banya  was  so  small,  that  it  was  hard  to  im- 
agine how  our  half  could  find  accommodation  in  it. 
But  Petrof  did  not  leave  me  :  he  himself,  without  my 
asking  him,  hurried  to  help  me,  and  even  offered  to 
wash  me.  Bakliushin,  as  well  as  Petrof,  offered  me 
his  services.     He  was  a  prisoner  from  a  special  cell, 


434  APPENDIX. 

and  was  known  among  us  as  the  pioneer,  and  him 
I  remembered  as  the  gayest  and  livehest  of  the  ares- 
tants,  as  indeed  he  was.  We  had  already  become 
somewhat  well  acquainted.  Petrof  helped  me  undress 
myself,  because,  as  I  was  not  used  to  it,  it  took  me 
long ;  and  the  dressing-room  was  cold,  almost  as  cold 
as  the  street.  By  the  way,  it  is  very  hard  for  a 
prisoner  to  undress  if  he  has  not  had  some  practice. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  know  how  to 
unfasten  quickly  the  shin-protectors.'  These  shin- 
protectors  are  made  of  leather,  about  seven  inches 
long ;  and  they  are  fastened  to  the  underclothes  di- 
rectly under  the  iron  anklet  which  encircles  the  leg. 
A  pair  of  shin-protectors  are  worth  not  less  than  sixty 
kopeks  ;  but,  nevertheless,  every  prisoner  gets  himself 
a  pair,  at  his  own  expense  of  course,  because  without 
them  it  is  impossible  to  walk.  The  iron  ring  does  not 
encircle  the  leg  tightly,  and  it  is  easy  to  thrust  a  finger 
between  the  ring  and  the  leg.  Thus  the  iron  strikes 
the  leg,  chafes  it ;  and  a  prisoner  without  shin-protec- 
tors would  in  a  single  day  have  bad  wounds.  But  to 
take  off  the  shin-protectors  is  not  the  hardest  thing  of 
all.  It  is  much  harder  to  learn  to  get  off  the  clothes 
when  one  wears  the  rings  {Jzandalui).  This  is  the 
whole  trick  :  Suppose  you  are  taking  off  the  drawers 

^  Podkandalnikt. 


APPENDIX.  435 

from  the  left  leg,  it  is  necessary  first  to  let  the  garment 
slip  through  between  the  leg  and  the  ring.  Afterwards 
you  have  to  put  it  on  again  the  same  way.  The  same 
process  must  be  gone  through  with  when  you  put  on 
clean  clothes.  For  a  newcomer  it  is  even  hard  to 
guess  how  it  is  accomplished.  The  first  one  who  ever 
taught  us  how  to  do  it  was  the  prisoner  K6ryenef  in 
Tobolsk,  who  had  once  been  ataman  of  a  gang  of 
cut-throats,  and  had  been  fastened  to  a  chain  five  years. 
But  the  prisoners  get  used  to  it,  and  do  it  without  any 
difficulty.  I  gave  several  kopeks  to  Petrof  to  get  soap 
and  scrubbers.  To  be  sure,  the  authorities  furnished 
the  prisoners  with  soap.  Every  one  would  get  a  lit- 
tle piece  about  the  size  of  a  two-kopek  coin,  and  as 
thick  as  the  slice  of  cheese  served  at  evening  lunch 
by  middle-class  people.  Soap  was  sold  here  in  the 
dressing-room,  together  with  sbiten  [a  kind  of  mead], 
twists,  and  hot  water.  Every  prisoner  would  get, 
according  to  the  agreement  made  with  the  proprietor 
of  the  banya,  a  single  pail  of  hot  water.  Whoever 
wanted  to  wash  himself  cleaner  could  get  for  a  grosh, 
or  half  kopek,  an  extra  pail,  which  was  handed  into 
the  banya  itself  through  a  window  made  for  that  pur- 
pose from  the  dressing-room.  After  helping  me  to 
undress,  Petrof  led  me  by  the  hand,  observing  that 
it  was  very  hard  for  me  to  walk  in  the  rings.     "  Pull 


43^  APPENDIX. 

them  up  a  little  higher  over  the  calf,"  he  added,  sup- 
porting me  as  though  he  were  my  uncle  {dyadka). 
"  Be  a  little  careful  here,  there  is  a  door-sill."  I  even 
felt  a  little  ashamed.  I  wanted  to  assure  Petrof  that 
I  could  get  along  by  myself,  but  he  would  not  have 
believed  me.  He  treated  me  just  like  a  young  and 
incapable  child,  whom  everybody  was  obliged  to  help. 
Petrof  was  far  from  being  a  servant,  by  no  means  was 
he  a  servant.  Had  I  insulted  him,  he  would  have 
understood  how  to  behave  to  me.  I  did  not  offer 
him  any  money  for  his  services,  and  he  did  not  ask 
for  any.  What,  then,  prompted  him  to  take  such  care 
of  me? 

"  When  we  opened  the  door  of  the  banya,  I  thought 
that  we  were  going  into  Gehenna.  Imagine  a  room 
about  twelve  feet  long,  and  as  wide,  stuffed  with  prob- 
ably a  hundred  men  at  once,  and,  at  the  very  least, 
surely  eighty,  because  the  prisoners  were  divided  into 
two  detachments,  and  the  whole  number  of  us  who 
went  to  the  banya  were  two  hundred  men ;  the 
steam  blinding  our  eyes,  the  sweat,  the  filth,  such  a 
crowd  that  there  was  no  room  to  get  a  leg  in.  I  was 
alarmed,  and  wanted  to  go  back,  but  Petrof  immedi- 
ately encouraged  me.  Somehow,  with,  the  greatest 
difficulty,  we  squeezed  ourselves  through  to  the 
benches,  over  the  heads  of  those  who  were  sitting  on 


APPENDIX.  437 

the  floor,  asking  them  to  bend  down  so  that  we  could 
pass.  But  all  the  places  on  the  benches  were  occu- 
pied. Petrof  told  me  that  it  was  necessary  to  buy  a 
place,  and  immediately  entered  into  transactions  with 
a  prisoner  who  had  taken  a  place  near  the  window. 
For  a  kopek  the  prisoner  surrendered  his  place,  im- 
mediately took  the  money  from  Petrof,  who  had  it 
tight  in  his  fist,  having  foreseen  that  it  would  be  ne- 
cessary to  bring  it  with  him  into  the  banya.  The  man 
threw  himself  under  the  bench,  directly  under  my 
place,  where  it  was  dark,  filthy,  and  where  the  slimy 
dampness  was  almost  half  a  finger  in  thickness.  But 
the  places  under  the  benches  were  also  taken ;  even 
there,  the  crowd  clustered.  On  the  whole  floor,  there 
was  not  a  free  place  as  large  as  the  palm  of  the  hand 
where  the  prisoners  would  not  be  sitting  doubled  up, 
washing  themselves  in  their  pails.  Others  stood  up- 
right among  these,  and,  holding  their  pails  in  their 
hands,  washed  themselves  as  best  they  could.  The 
dirty  water  ran  down  directly  on  the  shaven  heads  of 
those  who  sat  beneath  them.  On  the  platform,  and 
on  all  the  steps  leading  to  it,  were  men  washing  them- 
selves, bent  down  and  doubled  up.  But  precious  little 
washing  they  got.  Plebeians  wash  themselves  very 
little  with  hot  water  and  soap  :  they  only  steam  them- 
selves tremendously,  and  then  pour  cold  water  over 


43  S  APPENDIX. 

them,  and  that's  their  whole  bath.  Fifty  brooms  or  so 
on  the  platform  were. rising  and  falling  in  concert: 
they  all  broomed  themselves  into  a  state  of  intoxica- 
tion. Every  instant  steam  was  let  in.  It  was  not 
merely  heat,  it  was  hell  let  loose.  It  was  all  one  up- 
roar and  hullaballoo  {gogotalo),  with  the  rattling  of  a 
hundred  chains  dragging  over  the  floor.  .  .  .  Some, 
trying  to  pass,  entangled  themselves  with  the  chains  of 
others,  and  they  themselves  bumped  against  the  heads 
of  those  sitting  below,  and  they  tumbled  over,  and 
scolded,  and  dragged  into  the  quarrel  those  whom 
they  hit.  The  filth  was  streaming  on  every  side.  All 
were  in  an  excited,  and  as  it  were  intoxicated,  state  of 
mind.  Shrieks  and  cries  were  heard.  At  the  dressing- 
room  window,  where  the  water  was  handed  through, 
there  was  a  tumult,  a  pushing,  even  fighting.  The  hot 
water  ordered  was  spilt  on  the  heads  of  those  sitting 
on  the  floor,  before  it  reached  its  destination.  Now 
and  then,  at  the  window  or  in  the  half-opened  door, 
a  soldier  with  mustachioed  face  would  show  himself, 
with  gun  in  hand,  ready  to  quell  any  disorder.  The 
shaven  heads  and  red,  parboiled  bodies  of  the  pris- 
oners seemed  uglier  than  ever.  On  their  parboiled 
shoulders  clearly  appeared,  oftentimes,  the  welts 
caused  by  the  strokes  and  lashes  which  they  may  have 
received  in  days  gone  by ;  so  that  now  all  these  backs 


APPEND/X.  439 

seem  to  be  freshly  wounded.  Horrid  welts  !  A  chill 
went  through  ray  skin  at  seeing  them.  "  Give  us  more 
steam  ;  "  and  the  steam  would  spread  in  a  thick  hot 
cloud  over  the  whole  banya.  From  under  the  cloud 
of  steam  gleamed  scarred  backs,  shaven  heads,  disfig- 
ured arms  and  legs.  And  as  a  fit  climax  Isa'i  Fomitch 
(the  Jew)  would  roar  with  all  his  throat,  from  the 
top  of  the  platform.  He  steams  himself  into  insanity, 
but  it  seems  as  if  no  heat  could  satisfy  him.  For  a 
kopek  he  hires  a  washer  {parilshchik)  ;  but  at  last  it 
gets  too  warm  for  him,  and  he  throws  down  the  broom, 
and  runs  to  pour  cold  water  on  him.  Isai  Fomitch 
does  not  give  up  hope,  but  hires  a  second,  a  third  :  he 
makes  up  his  mind,  on  such  occasions,  not  to  grudge 
any  expense,  and  he  has  as  many  as  half  a  dozen 
washers.  "  You  are  tough,  Isai  Fomitch,  you  are  a 
fine  fellow,"  shout  the  prisoners  from  below.  And 
Isai  Fomitch  himself  feels  that  at  this  moment  he 
stands  above  them  all,  and  could  thrust  them  all  un- 
der his  belt ;  he  is  in  a  glory ;  and  with  a  sharp,  crazy 
voice  he  shouts  out  his  aria  lya-lya-lya-Iya,  drowning 
all  other  voices.'    The  thought  entered  my  mind,  that, 

'  At  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  Isai  Fomitch  assures  Dostoyevsky, 
"  under  oath,  that  this  song  and  the  same  motive  was  sung  by  the  six  hundred 
thousand  Hebrews,  from  small  to  great,  when  they  crossed  the  Red  Sea;  and 
that  every  Hebrew  has  to  sing  this  song  at  the  moment  of  glory  and  victory 
over  his  enemies." 


440  APPENDIX. 

if  we  were  ever  to  be  all  in  hell,  then  it  would  look 
very  much  like  this  place.  I  could  not  refrain  from 
imparting  this  thought  to  Petrof:  he  only  looked 
around,  but  said  nothing." 


INDEX 


Aksakof,  142,  144. 

Alexander  II.,  Emperor,  148,  151,  152,  326. 

Alexander  III ,  Emperor,  151,  152,  156. 

"Anna   Karenina,"    206,    218,    230,    232;    analysis,    297-323; 

quoted,  304-305.  306-307,  309-322 ;  meaning,  322. 
"Annals  of  a  Sportsman,"  121,  129,  158,  190,  394. 
Aristophanes,  70. 
Arria,  188. 

Balzac,  105. 

"Banya  (bath).  The,"  203  ;  quoted,  433-440. 

Bazarof,  145,  173,  174,  186,  388. 

Bielinsky,  120,  121  note,  424,  426. 

"  Bulba."    See  "  Taras  Bulba." 

Censorship,  The  Russian,  122  note,  2iy,  398. 

"Childhood  and  Youth,"  205,  217. 

"  Confession."    See  "  My  Confession." 

Corneille,  13. 

"  Cossacks,  The  "  ("  Kazaki "),  216,  229,  231 ;  analysis,  239-267. 

"  Commentary  on  the  Gospels,"  Tolstoi's,  234. 

Daudet,  Alphonse,  199  note. 

"Dead  Souls,"  11,  28,  61,  159,  360,  396,  426;  analysis,  86-115. 

Devil,  The,  in  Gogol,  30. 

Dissenters,  181,  330,  337. 

Divorce,  according  to  Tolstoi,  271,  299,  302. 

"Dmitri  Rudin,"  167,  168. 

Dniepr,  15-18,  36. 

441 


442  INDEX. 

"Don  Quixote,"  133,  158,  170. 

Dostoyevsky,  141,  202  note^  203,  204  note  ;  biography,  423-432  ; 
faith,  432. 

Edgeworth,  Maria,  401,  402,  403. 
"Evenings  at  the  Farm,"  9,  10,  28,  29,  60. 

'■'  Fathers  and  Sons,"  130,  173,  388;  quoted,  193-198. 

Fenelon,  70. 

Flaubert,  127,  134,  207,  209,  406. 

French  novelists,  190,  191. 

German  education,  172,  386. 

Goethe,  343;  quoted  by  Turgenief,  137. 

Gogol,  biography,  5-1 1,  339-362;  professorship,  9,  10,  353, 
355-358 ;  w^orks  enumerated,  29,  30,  346,  353 ;  humor,  80, 
346;  as  a  poet,  6,  13,  47,  114,  191;  as  a  scholar,  343,  344, 
354;  as  a  painter  of  women,  186;  influence  on  Turgenief, 

394- 
Gontcharof,  430. 
Griboyedof,  238  note,  414. 
Grigorovitch,  425,  430. 

Hamlet,  126,  158,  170,  179. 
Hegel,  120,  168,  172,  386. 
Herzen,  428. 
Hugo,  Victor,  209,  210. 

Iskander.     See  Herzen. 
Ivanitsky  on  Gogol,  quoted,  356. 

James,  Henry,  quoted,  403  note, 

Karakozof,  151. 

Katkof,  145,  148,  149,  152,  174,  414. 
"  Kazaki."    See  "  The  Cossacks." 
Khor  and  Kalinuitch,  121,  159. 
Kulzhinsky  on  Gogol,  quoted,  343. 


INDEX.  443 

La  Bruyere,  70. 

La  Rochefoucauld,  220. 

Lermontof,  202  and  note. 

"May  Night,  The,"  quoted,  21,  32. 
Marvellous,  The,  in  Gogol,  30-34. 
Merimee,  4,  48,  192. 
Moliere,  11,  68,  70,  80. 
Muzhik.    See  Russian  Peasantry. 
Murillo,  comparison  with  Gogol,  31. 
"My  Confession"  (Tolstoi),  219-228. 

"My  Religion"  (Tolstoi),  228,  322,  420;  quoted,  278,  296;  an- 
alysis, 324-338. 

Napoleon,  TolstoVs  judgment  of,  285. 

Nekrasof,  181,  202  note^  210  note^  391,  4261 

"Nest  of  Noblemen,"  169. 

Nicholas,  Emperor,  84,  113,  399,  426,  429. 

Niezhin,  5,  7,  342. 

Nihilism,  148,  173,  176,  179,  180,  329,  389. 

Occidentalism,  Turgenief's,  120,  142,  387. 
"Old-time  Proprietors,"  51-58;  quoted,  24. 

"  Parasha,"  120. 

Pathetic,  The,  in  Turgenief,  199. 

Pi'semsky,  167  note. 

Pletnef,  9,  385. 

Pobyedonovtsof,  152,  414. 

Poetry,  Nature  of,  13. 

Pogodin,  142. 

Polevoi,  339 ;  quoted,  424,  429. 

Polonsky,  126,  136, 

Pushkin,  4,  6,  7,  9,  ^t,,  112,  134,  202,  210,  238,  345,  385,  400, 

414;  on  Griboyedof's  death,  238;  judgment  of  Gogol,  58; 

as  inspiration  to  Gogol,  345;  festival,  135,  391. 

Raskolniks.     See  Dissenters. 

Realism,  French  and  Russian,  25,  189,  193,  199,  286. 


444  INDEX. 

"  Recollections  of  a  Scorer  "  (Tolstoi),  quoted,  235-237. 
"Recollections"    (Reminiscences),   Turgenief's,    quoted,    120 

note,  122  note,  384,  388. 
Renan,  funeral  discourse  on  Turgenief,  408. 
Resurrection,  The,  according  to  Tolstoi,  278. 
Revizor,  The,  7,  10,  61,  358,  426;  analysis,  63-83. 
Rousseau,  70. 
Rudin.     See  Dmitri  Rudin. 
Russian  ideal,  1S2;    language,  98,  no,  192,  395,  414;    mind, 

12;  nature,  14,  18,  23,  114;  nobility^  159,  164;  peasantry, 

150,  159,  181,325. 

Sand,  George,  127,  211. 

Sasuluitch,  Viera,  171. 

Satirical,  The,  in  Gogol,  7,  12,  60,  347. 

Shchedrin.     See  Soltuikof. 

Schiller,  212,  343;  quoted  by  Turgenief,  154. 

Schopenhauer,  172,  228. 

Schuyler,  Eugene,  translation  of  *'  The  Cossacks,"  416. 

Serfage,  166,  326,  397. 

Shakspeare,  69,  126,  225. 

Skidelsky,  quoted,  424. 

Slavophilism,  143,  144,  206. 

"Smoke,"  175. 

Soltuikof,  204,  211. 

Swinburne,  Turgenief's  opinion  of,  210. 

"Taras  Bulba,"  6,  10,  18,  29,  355;  analysis,  36-49;  Turgenief's 
judgment  on,  50;  quoted,  19,  23,  363-382. 

Tchernuishevsky,  145,  201,  210  note,  423. 

"Terrible  Vengeance,  A,"  quoted,  15-18. 

Tolstoi,  Count  Lyof  N.,  biography,  215,  222-230,  236  note,  414- 
422;  works  enumerated,  216,  416,  417;  talent,  218;  mental 
and  moral  transformation,  222-230,  278;  literary  life, 
224,  231;  marriage,  224,  421;  mysticism,  234;  character 
revealed  in  "  The  Cossacks,"  256-258 ;  in  "  War  and 
Peace,"  267,  275,  293,  295;  in  "Anna  Karenina,"  295,  421 ; 
his  ideal  of  strength,  248;  ideal  of  life,  227,  275,  299;  as  a 


INDEX.  445 

historian,  283;  as  a  non-combatant,  293,  299;  as  a  prophet, 
219,  329;  as  a  communist,  335 ;  his  creed,  332  ;  appearance 
in  1862,  41S;  criticised  by  Turgenief,  205. 

Turgenief,  Ivan,  biography,  1 17-140,  383-408;  works  enumer- 
ated, 129-139;  method  of  work,  130,  135,  183,407;  prog- 
ress, 157;  talent,  182,409;  character,  139,  141  ;  generosity, 
139  note^  155,  205;  conversation,  140,  149,  405;  as  a  politi- 
cal prophet,  153,  157;  as  a  dramatist,  189;  as  a  poet,  191, 
385,  399  note;  as  a  critic  on  his  epoch,  146,  150,  200  ;  judg- 
ment on  Alexander  III.,  152,  156;  on  Hugo,  209,  210;  on 
George  Sand,  212;  Flaubert,  209;  Zola,  208;  Swinburne, 
210;  Dickens,  407;  Dostoyevsky,  203 ;  Nekrasof,  201,  202; 
Gogol,  50;  Soltuikof,  204;  Tchernuishevsky,  201 ;  Tolstoi, 
205,  231,  284;  letters  to  Tolstoi,  127,  138;  letter  to  Mr. 
King,  183;  homesickness  and  love  of  Russia,  123,  127; 
personal  appearance,  139,  393,  404;  disease,  136. 

Turgenief,  Nikolai,  383. 

Turner,  C.  E.,  on  Gogol,  quoted,  361. 

Ukraina,  10,  15,  23,  32. 

Viardot,  401,  406. 

"  Vii,"  quoted,  30,  358. 

"Virgin  Soil"  (iViw),  131,  132,  176,  179,  187. 

VogUe,  Count  E.  Melchior,  on  Turgenief,  quoted,  390-400. 

"  War  and  Peace,"  206,  218,  230,  232,  233;  analysis,  267-294. 
Woman  in  Gogol,  109,  187;  in  Turgfnief,  186,  187;  in  Tolstoi, 
247,  2S8,  422. 

Zhukovsky,  4,  345. 
Zola,  135,  208,  211,  286. 


RETURN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO^  202  Main  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 

HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling     642-3405. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


A 


— n 


iV  Ufeei  *^''* 


■Mi^ 


m^z9m%Un^.r^^ 


;pT. 

-gnWEWWi. 


RCCOVED  BY 


m  ^  '^  1969 


aRCUlATION  OEP( 


SEP  2  51992 


AUrO  DISC  CIRC 


M-   "92 


FORM  NO.  DD6, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


YB  bbjU4 


^ 


,1^^  SEfiKELEY  LIBRARIES 


^^ 


